


Archaic (Peterick)

by The_City_Rain



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Bats, Bottom!Pete, M/M, Magic, Past petekey, Patrick is done with Pete, Petes an idiot, Smut, There’s a lot happening, Top!Patrick, Unrequited Love, Vampire Hunter, Vampires, Visions, mythical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-18 07:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 41
Words: 46,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21990223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_City_Rain/pseuds/The_City_Rain
Summary: Pete was a vampire.Patrick was a hunter.Patrick wanted Pete dead.Pete fell in love.OrVampires do exist. They're needy psychopaths, who feed on blood and fear. They're dangerous. They're to be avoided at all costs.Pete Wentz is one of them. He might not look it, with sallow, golden skin, and eyes brimming with stolen life, but that's just it, isn't it? You just can't tell who's who, just by looking at them. Things are never that simple.Things are never as simple as just a one night stand with the cynic, filled to the fedora brim with hatred for everything- especially vampires.[[Completed]]WARNING: {Contains mentions of smut, depression, death, gore, violence and a fuhk ton of strong language.}
Relationships: Past Petekey - Relationship, Pete Wentz/Patrick Stump, Peterick - Relationship, past Ashlee Simpson/Pete Wentz
Kudos: 24





	1. The Rise and Fall of BatBoy

Pete looked around the shitty club for his next victim. The smell of alcohol and lust in the room was turning his stomach. 

He had been bitten only five years ago on his way home from a club just like this. He had lain, alone on the street for half the night before he had the strength to get home. He didn't realise what had really happened for two whole weeks. His girlfriend had been quite accepting. Three days later, she was dead.

Pete didn't really care anymore. Whatever happens happens. People die every day. He wasn't making it any better, but he wasn't making it too much worse. In fact, he found that being a vampire was the one thing that he was actually somewhat okay at. And that made him happy.

He spotted a short boy, short as in maybe two or three inches smaller than himself, in the corner. He looked like he'd rather be anywhere else in the world. He was perfect. Pete smirked and strutted over to him confidently. 

"Hey, hot stuff" he smirked, leaning against the wall beside him. 

The boy looked him up and down and raised his eyebrow. He looked skeptical, but there was a slight failing in it, a crack, through which his neediness shone through. Pete thought himself a good judge of character.

"What's your name?" Pete bit his lip, thankful his fangs hadn't made an appearance yet. 

"Patrick." The boy, Patrick, said shortly and looked away uninterestedly. Pete huffed, not used to not getting his way. 

"I'm Pete."

Patrick nodded shortly. His answers were as short as he was. There was no question that this Patrick was used to being flirted with, and was extremely done with being used. No matter. Pete rolled his eyes and moved closer, leaving practically no space between them. 

"Well, Pattycakes, wanna dance with me?"

"Don't call me that." Patrick glanced at him. He then shrugged. "You look desperate enough to entertain."

Pete made an undignified sound, drowned out by the horrible 2000's pop blaring through the club. 

Playing hard to get? It just made him even more determined. He grabbed Patrick's hand and and pulled him onto the dance floor, twirling them so Pete's back was pressed against Patrick's chest. He held Patrick's hand over his chest and started moving his hips to the beat. 

"You know, I like boys like you. The edgy ones..." He said, trying his best to be heard over the music. Patrick rolled his eyes but let his hands roam Pete's body despite himself. He could use a bit of fun.

Pete twirled around in his grip and slung his arms lazily over Patrick's shoulders. 

"And by the way, I'm not desperate. I could get any guy I wanted in here, but I chose you" he winked over-exaggeratedly. 

Patrick rolled his eyes.

"Great line. If you're trying to sound like a terribly awkward ash ketchum." he replied sarcastically, making Pete pout.

"Don't bring pokémon into this too."

Patrick sighed. Nerd.

"I can tell you're not that into this whole dancing thing, why don't we get out of here?" Pete asked.

Patrick stared at him, mulling over his options, like one of those interactive stories. He decided anywhere would be better and nodded, he might even be able to swindle some breakfast out of it if he played his cards right. 

Pete giggled and grabbed his hand, tugging him towards the exit. He was glad he could pick someone up this easily. He wouldn't have to worry too much about the sunrise that way. 

Pete was all over Patrick the whole way to his run down apartment. Dragging him the full length of the three blocks, swinging around corners, his mouth roaming over his neck and hands steadily moving farther down. 

"You really are desperate," Patrick rolled his light blue eyes at the older boy. 

"Only for you." Pete sang in his ear, not exactly a pleasant sound. It was a little like the keys crunching together in the older man's left hand as he detached himself to unlock the door. Patrick scoffed quietly, following him in. he supposed Pete wasn't exactly bad looking. Not exactly. He was one of those emo guys who teenage girls go weak at the knees for for no apparent reason other than their smoky eye. An overgrown angsty teen. As Patrick scanned his apartment he decided that's exactly what Pete was. 

He only had a chance to catch the Joy Division poster on one of Pete's black kitchen slash living room walls before he was being pulled into what could only be described as an emo explosion. 

Even the bloody bed looked emo. It was covered with a white sheet that, taking a wild guess, Pete had sharpied a weird looking bat heart onto. He sighed softly. He was starting to regret his decision to follow Pete out. There had been a cute enough girl on the dance floor he could've gotten. 

Pete pushed Patrick onto the bed and straddled his waist, his semi digging into Patrick's hip. He tugged at the bottom of Patrick's shirt.

"Get it off."

Patrick slowly and deliberately discarded it onto the ground beside the bed, barely having it off before Pete was attacking his neck, leaving hickeys that would bruise for at least a week. Hadn't this goth whore ever heard of subtlety?

Somehow, in all the haste, Pete had managed to strip them both down to their underwear and push Patrick down onto his back. Now that was impressive.

"You look kinda like a bottom" he commented smugly. Patrick let out a sharp laugh, like a whip cracking. Like Pete's singing, it wasn't a pleasant sound. It didn't sound right, didn't sound like it was practised enough.

"Like I'd bottom for someone like you." 

Pete made a clucking sound that turned into a squeak as he was flipped over, now looking up at Patrick. Patrick glanced at Petes beside clock, which was batman themed might he add. 03:30, it read. Patrick did the maths quickly. 

It would take at least 40 minutes for him to walk home, another half hour or so for Pete to fall asleep so he could make his escape. He had to be home by 6 am. That gave him exactly an hour and 20 minutes to get Pete off. 

He kissed down Pete's bare chest, now seeing the weird bat heart tattoo above his crotch. He scoffed quietly. 

"You really like bats, huh?" 

Pete groaned. 

"Oh shut up." He growled out. Patrick smirked and grabbed the base of Petes cock. 

"I really don't think you're the one in control here." 

Pete let out a small whimper from the back of his throat, feeling himself grow fully hard. 

Pete was surprised he wasn't finished by now. By this time, he'd usually have his fangs out. He frowned slightly and listened closely, Patrick had a dull heartbeat. Pete concluded that Patrick must've been sick or something like that.


	2. Wear Your Heart on Your Chest

Pete cuddled up to Patrick's chest, wrapped his body around the younger boy like a koala. Patrick sighed softly.

"Should've known you were a cuddler.." he mumbled.

"Not a bad thing is it?" Pete smiled, making Patrick roll his eyes. Patrick pulled the string on the beside lamp, plunging them into a deep, inky darkness.

Patrick closed his eyes, letting out long deep breaths in the hope Pete would fall asleep sooner if he thought he was. Pete lightly closed his eyes and waited until Patrick was asleep.

He tightened his grip on the boy and slowly moved up a bit, fanging. He gently pressed the sharp canines to the soft skin of Patrick's neck, not wanting to 'wake' him.

He was still blissed out from his orgasm and wasn't in the mood for a fight. He was sure that if he bit him very, very gently, he wouldn't even notice until he woke up in heaven. With a face like that, he'd have to be an angel. Saint Patrick. The angel of eye rolls and death glares. He chuckled. Pete slowly prepared to puncture the skin, and finally cure the hunger that had plagued him, getting progressively worse, since the last time he'd done this.

Patrick's eyes shot open and he roughly pushed Pete off of him, sending the emo little shit flying across the room like one of the bats he so revered from the force of it. He hit the wall, knocking the back of his head off the paint, leaving a slight dent in the cheap magnolia-covered plaster.

He stared at Patrick in shock. He had not expected him to be able to do that.

"What the fuhk?!" he scrambled up quickly.

Patrick's eyes widened. He quickly sat up, looking at the boy on the floor.

"Shit! Sorr-" he shook his head to clear it and attempt understand what had just happened. Once he'd got his facts straight, he aggressively stood up and stormed over to Pete.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he demanded.

Pete suddenly felt small, despite their heights. The sudden assertiveness that Patrick had gathered up scared him slightly. As did the fact that he'd just been thrown across the room by a small ginger.

"I- how did you just do that?!"

Patrick rolled his eyes and knocked at Pete's forehead.

"You're not very bright are you?" he rolled his eyes for what felt like the millionth time that night. It actually hurt to do it at that stage. He remembered something that his nanny used to say.

_"Keep rolling your eyes, and they'll fall out of your head!"_

The situation warranted it. Pete wasn't slight, but he wasn't particularly heavy, either. Patrick had thrown heavier people, as euphemistic as that sounded.

He reached for the bag lying beside the bed, and knelt down in front of Pete. Pete gazed at him, his eyes a little unfocused. They focused a second later, though. His vision snapped in a matter of seconds from blurry watercolours to a sight as sharp as the double edged blade he was staring at. He felt the cold metal against his throat draw blood as Patrick slid it along his neck with facetious indifference.

He swiped at where Patrick had been with his talons, but the boy was no longer there. Pete looked around for him, and found him standing by the window, with his clothes back on.

"Too slow, Batboy." He sniped, flicking the knife between his fingers. Pete continued to stare, this time, his eyes filled with fear.

"Please don't kill me..."

Patrick threw the knife up in the air, where it spun, catching the light from the streetlamps outside. He caught it between his thumb and forefinger, and flipped it back into his grip. Time for some fun.

"You know what I am, Pete?" he asked, looking into the sparkling silver of the ornate knife. Pete's voice shook.

"Y-you're a hunter..."

"That's right. I am. Do you know what we do?"

"You k-kill vampires?"

Pete stood up, his whole body shaking worse than his trembling voice. He crossed his legs and rubbed his left arm lightly. Patrick looked at him. Vampires had been so terrifying when he was younger...

"Not just vampires." Patrick said, dragging the knife across the paintwork, leaving a long scar across the off-champagne cream. "Monsters. Killers with access to weaponry that the human mind can't even imagine. Demons. Shapeshifters. All kinds of unsavoury creatures. As you can tell, vampires aren't all that hard to deal with compared to those. They don't even place in the top ten."

Pete slid back down the wall, whimpering lightly. This had never happened before. He knew that there was something weird about him. He'd just never paid attention to it. He was too focused on sex and food. And now he'd pay the price.

"It's very simple, killing a vampire." Patrick said, lying horizontally across the bed, his eyes' wide cerulean innocence juxtaposed with the fact that he was pressing the dagger's point right into the tip of Pete's nose was probably the scariest thing of all.

The vampire gulped, his fangs pinching on his trembling bottom lip. Patrick smiled very, very slightly. He didn't want to come across as a psychopath, but he was really enjoying this. He tapped the tip of Pete's nose with the knife, and ran it lightly down to his chest.

"You just destroy the heart."

He jabbed the knife into Pete's chest. The vampire hissed at him, his hazel eyes melting into a sickly yellow colour, that wasn't really any colour at all. Patrick ignored him, and twisted the knife so there was a perfectly circular wound in the dead flesh. A black ichor that had once been blood leaked out when he pressed the knife in a second time, a little to the left, and began to do it again.

Pete snapped at his hand. His vision was clearer than ever, but he could see nothing. Everything was a blur of brain signals and adrenaline. The pain in his chest was searing, but there was something else, too. Something that felt familiar, like his life was being sucked away. There was a smell of burnt skin. Patrick began to cut again, and this time, the pain was agonising.

Patrick sat back on his haunches, admiring his handiwork. He wasn't usually so neat. He brushed some ash off the blistered skin. Pete was crying, the yellow gone from his eyes. Patrick flicked him in the forehead.

"It's over. You can look now."

Pete looked down at the heart-shaped hole in his chest and looked up at Patrick.

"You're the monster." He hissed. Patrick flinched, but quickly shook his head. No need to let insults get to him.

"I thought you'd love it." Patrick frowned with mock sadness. Pete growled.

"Get it over with, you psychopath."

"Oh, so you did pick up on that."

"No shit!"

They sat there like that, staring each other down, until Patrick stood up and walked over to the window.

"Get your clothes on. You're coming with me."

Pete glared.

"Where?"

Patrick turned around, knife still hanging by his side. The light glinted in his eyes the same way it did on the knife. Raw, powerful and dangerous.

"To my mom's house. Time to meet the parents, batboy. No biting."

He picked his bag back up by the leather strap, and wrapped it around his scarred wrist.

He kicked Pete in the ribs on his way out the door.


	3. Introductions at Sunrise

"Where is your mom's house exactly?" Pete asked, struggling to keep up with his shorter companion.

"Chicago." Patrick said, sticking a piece of chewing gum in his mouth, and pulling his blazer on tighter as he walked.

"And why am I coming?" Pete asked. Patrick didn't answer for a second, while he weighed up the morals of telling him the truth, or a downright lie. He decided to do the right thing.

"Because I need company." He admitted, getting into the car and turning on the radio. Pete looked at him confusedly.

"Well, aren't you going to get in?" Patrick asked, patting the empty seat in the tiny blue car beside him. 

"I'm going to Chicago because you need company?"

"Exactly. Get a straw and suck it up."

"What if I turn around right now, and walk back home again?" Pete asked, folding his arms. Patrick chewed his gum obnoxiously.

"I'm not going to stop you, but that sun is rising in about a half hour, and it's a forty minutes walk from here to there. Do the math."

Pete quickly and inaccurately calculated.

"I'll be there with ten minutes to spare!" He cried in derision.

"No, you'll be a pile of ashes before you get to Henley Street, and keep your voice down. It's a quiet neighborhood."

Pete looked over at the window of the house next to Patrick's. A head quickly ducked out of view, behind the curtains pulled across the window. He tutted and sighed. He didn't have much choice. Patrick had set him up. He really didn't have the upper hand. Inside or outside the bedroom.

"Fine. But what's in it for me?" He asked, leaning against the doorframe. Patrick looked confused.

"So your not getting burned to death isn't enough?" 

Pete glared. Patrick smiled.

"Come on, you can't organise one or two criminals who could die for the greater good?"

"Your stomach is the greater good now, huh?"

"Shut up."

"I'll see what I can do for you, Pete."

Pete raised an eyebrow.

"I will try my best... Needy ass bitch."

"Scuse me?"

"Nothing. I said nothing offensive at all."

Pete got into the car. It didn't strike him as particularly strange, getting into the car with someone he'd met that morning. Patrick slotted a tape into the player in the car, and through the speakers came the distinctive introduction to Babooshka by Kate Bush. He looked at Patrick. He wasn't sure why he'd been expecting something a little more badass.

"What?" Patrick asked. 

"Kate Bush?"

Patrick's face lit up.

"You know her?"

"Not my cup of tea to be honest."

His face fell slightly.

"Oh."

Pete looked at him, taking everything in. It was like a different person. Just an hour ago, that sad face had been contorted into a pained smile, as he carved a heart into his chest. Just an hour ago, the baby blue eyes framed by thick set glasses had been staring into his with all the qualities of a power hungry megalomaniac. He wondered how he did it. Did he act normal, when he was truly a psycho? Or was he just normal, and acted like a psycho to scare vampires? 

"What's it like?" Patrick asked, unexpectedly. Pete jumped.

"Wh-what?"

Patrick glanced at him.

"What's it like?" He repeated.

"Being a vampire?"

"Yeah."

"I like it."

"Yeah, but what's it like?"

"It's... It's... It's a bit like being an addict. You want something, you're so desperate that you'll do anything under the sun to get what you need. It becomes normal."

Patrick nodded. Pete added, quietly:

"I've only been this way five years."

Only five years. It was a miniscule time frame compared to some of the others, fifty years, a hundred, five hundred.

"I've always been like this." Patrick said, taking the chewing gum out of his mouth and chucking it out the window. For a minute, Pete thought he was referring to being a vampire too, but then he related it back to the fact that Patrick was a hunter.

"What's your last name then?" Pete asked.

"Stumph." Patrick smiled.

"Seriously? Like... Like a tree stump?" 

Patrick nodded. Pete cackled.

"What was your dad's name? Patrick tree?" He laughed.

"That's not really how names work. What's your last name?"

"Peter Wentz!" He proclaimed proudly.

"Really? So your name's Pete Peter Wentz?"

Pete nodded happily, then realized what Patrick had actually said.

"Oh, no. No. That's not my name."

"It is now." 

Pete tutted. Patrick got on his nerves. And to think, all this would never have happened if he had just gone for that cute girl by the wall. 

Patrick kept his eyes trained on the road. Pete was daydreaming. The sun was slowly coming up over the horizon. They'd only covered 15 miles, but it was time to call it a day. He knew a cheap enough motel about a mile away. He could get them there before the sun started to burn.


	4. CopyCat

You don't just do that. 

You don't just get into a car with a guy you barely know and drive off into the sunrise with him.

It's just not right.

But Pete Wentz did it.

And he had no regrets.

As he was asleep.

Patrick, his companion, on the other hand, was trying his best to get to sleep, but it was proving difficult. He lay on a bed that was either uncomfortable or far too comfortable to be comfortable. A sketchbook lay open on his bedside locker, on which he'd drawn a picture of Pete, sprawled out on his bed as he was at that moment. The only difference was the knife in the chest of the drawn Pete. 

Kill him or die.

Kill him.

Kill him.

You probably should....

Patrick sighed heavily, and played with the knife. Death had always followed him, everywhere he went. It was what he did. He killed things. It was only recently that he'd started to develop a conscience. Guilt crept in, spread tendrils of seething self hatred across his mindscape like ivy on the asylum walls. He took Pete with him because he was guilty, and he needed to clear his newly created conscience. 

It was proving harder than expected to hold back from the teachings drummed into him by his father. Kill the darkness, spread the light. It was all too easy to kill the darkness. Spreading the light, he'd always thought was a proxy of that, and he was quite sure that was how his father had meant it. Now, though, he looked at it a bit differently. He looked at it correctly. The darkness was the evil things that would kill you with no hesitation. The light was acceptance and truth.

‘That's a load of bullshit.’

"I'm sorry?" Patrick said to the ghost in the mirror, still playing with his knife.

‘The darkness, that's the monsters. The light is the human species, adaptable, resilient always. That's what dad always said.’

"Well maybe he was wrong."

‘In what way was he wrong?’

"Not all of the Inhumans are necessarily bad. They do what they have to to live."

‘They don't deserve to live.’

"That's just rude."

‘I don't understand why we're keeping the vampire.‘

"Because. I like him. He's a good person."

‘He's a dead serial killer.’

Patrick tutted, and poured himself a cup of coffee. There was no milk. He sat on the bed and put the coffee down on the coffee table, onto the map.

"He didn't kill me."

‘No, but he would've.‘

"What makes you say that?"

‘Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact that he was about to bite you.‘

Patrick plucked his fedora off the bedside locker, and flipped it onto his head. 

"Maybe. Look, I'm only doing this so I can study him. The more I know about them the better."

‘What is with your vampire obsession, Patrick?’ 

Patrick didn't answer immediately. Instead, he picked up the cup of coffee, took a sip and placed it back down again.

"They're petty. They're not like demons, trying to enslave all humanity, or shapeshifters, trying to inflict misery upon thousands. They just do what they do."

‘Or maybe because you have a kink.’

"I don't have a vampire kink, Ryan."

‘You totally have a kink.‘

"I don't have a kink, Ryan."

‘Is this like that time when you told me you didn't have a crush on Brendon Urie?‘

"That was high school, Ry. That was three whole years ago. Stop being so..."

‘Understanding?‘

"I was going to say moronically petty, but hey."

‘I thought you liked petty.’

"Shush Ry"

‘The great Ryan Seaman will not be shushed!’

"I mean it Ryan! I can hear something!"

Both Patrick and the ghost in the mirror went silent. The sound of a phone ringing, somewhere, buried under piles of shit was audible. Patrick opened Pete's backpack, and rooted through it, trying to ignore the smell of stale bodily fluids and the disconcerting textures that did not feel like clothes. Finally, at the very bottom, Patrick found an old flip phone.

He picked it up quickly, not wanting to spend anymore time with his hands anywhere close to the bag. He opened the flip phone. It automatically answered. He read the name. Ash. 

A shrill voice sliced through the tiny speaker.

"Pete! You were meant to come over for dinner last night! Where the hell were you?!"

Patrick tried to hold back a short, but it didn't work. It exploded into a laugh, nay, a guffaw of epic proportions. 

"Pete?! Don't laugh at me, we've been planning this for an age now!"

Whoever Ash was, every one of her sentences was carried with the same blend of irritation and whiny 'do you even love me' angst. Patrick hated her, over the phone. He could imagine her, pretty face, hiding from the world in a pretentious 'look at me, I'm emo but not really' sort of way.

"Pete I swear to god-"

"Ash, I'm sorry..." Patrick said, his voice almost perfectly matching the person she was meant to be calling's tones, timbres, and the slight drawl at the end of words like when the washing machine stops spinning and the noise continues for a second. Pete had a very easy voice to copy.

"Oh you're sorry. You're always sorry afterwards." 

"Well I can't really be sorry beforehand."

"You shouldn't be sorry at all!"

"Sorry."

"PETER WENTZ IF I EVER HEAR YOU USE THAT WORD AGAIN I'LL SCREAM SO HARD YOU'LL GET PUNCHED THROUGH THE GODDAMNED RECEIVER!" Ash screeched. Patrick held the phone at arm's length. He couldn't hold back a snigger. When he answered, his impression wavered just a little.

"Who are you, my mom?"

He cursed himself. It was very, very noticeable, to him, anyway. He sat over beside Pete, and put one hand on his exposed back. When he answered her next question, it was with a somehow, even better impression than before.

"I'm your girlfriend, who are you, my ten year old brother?"

"Well, probably not, if you're my girlfriend."

Patrick wondered if she actually did have a ten year old brother.

"Are you fucking kidding me, Pete?? I'm not talking to you anymore. Call me when you're ready to make sense. God..." She hung up the phone.

Patrick flopped down on the bed beside Pete, and dropped the phone on the carpet floor. He smiled at the ceiling.

‘That was a good one.‘

"Thanks. I didn't need to work on it much."

‘You already did a fantastic job of working on it last night.‘

"That's got to be the worst excuse for a sex joke I've ever heard." 

‘Sorry, I wasnt really sure where it was going.’

"Now that's something you should work on." Patrick said, kissing the back of Pete's neck. He checked his watch.

Three thirty. Patrick thought about that for a minute. Exactly twelve hours ago, he'd lost his virginity to a cringy emo vampire who had an obsession with bats. He wasn't sure that was one to remember. 

He lay down beside Pete and yawned. It had been a while since he'd got some proper sleep. Time to replenish his system. He wrapped his arms around Pete's sleeping frame, and, within minutes, he too, was soundly asleep.


	5. Mouse on a Linoleum Floor

Pete, like everything else he did, woke up with a bang. 

The scent surrounding him wasn't familiar. It smelt of drugs, affairs and cheap cleaning products. There was also the scent that could rival first place on his 'vile smells' chart; money. 

Unsurprisingly, he had woken so abruptly due to another nightmare. He tried to remember what his therapist had taught him years back. He shut his eyes and took five deep breaths before slowly letting his eyes flutter open again. 

Although he didn't need to breathe anymore, the action was still calming to him. He remembered reading that taking a deep breath really does calm you down by triggering neurons in your brain which tell the body it's time to relax in a science class. 

Though Pete didn't know what a neutron was, he understood 'deep breath' and 'relax'. 

He tried to recall his nightmare, though it was difficult now that he was fully awake. He did remember a loud lively club, a knife and a hell of a lot of stairs he couldn't run up fast enough. What he was running from, he couldn't remember. 

He then noticed an arm lazily draped over his waist, hand resting over his Bartskull tattoo and a light tickle on his neck. He slowly turned around and leapt out of the bed. 

There was someone in his bed! Why hadn't he killed them already? Was this person the one that smelt like money and drugs?

Then it came back to him, the shitty club, the pop music, the mind blowing (if he says so himself) sex, the double-edged knife, the car, the motel and smack bang in the middle of it all, Patrick.

Patrick. The Patrick that had threatened to kill him only near hours ago, or so he assumed it was only hours ago. The same Patrick that was soundly sleeping on the ratty bed and would probably continue to sleep if Pete left. 

Pete sat on the cold, hard floor just staring at the younger boy for a moment. His ears suddenly perked as he heard an obnoxious ticking. 

It was loud in the dead silence of the room. He looked around at the peeling walls and the stained floor on which he sat before pin-pointing the sound as Patrick's extremely old fashioned watch. 

He gently crawled over Patricks supposedly unconscious body and checked the time on his annoying watch. 

It was barely past midnight. Pete recalled that it had taken them about an hour to drive here, Pete estimated it would hardly take him two to sprint home. He took track in high school. 

He, as quietly as he could, which was an equivalent to a hippo walking on a spring mattress, collected his things and shoved them into his old dingy bag. He contemplated looking through Patrick's things before coming to the conclusion it would only end in him hurting himself more. 

He glanced at Patrick once more before stealing his orange hoodie. What? It was cold outside. He pulled it on, pulling the hood over his messy, bird nest hair and slung his bag over his shoulder. 

He could only imagine what he looked like. His fringe felt fluffy on his forehead, not having straightened it, and he assumed his eyeliner made him look like a panda. Then he remembered something else about his appearance. 

He gently touched the scar Patrick had cut into his collarbone with his calloused fingertips and winced. But as much as he hated to admit it, his looks weren't important right now. 

Pete pulled himself from his thoughts and tiptoed quiet as a mouse, wearing heels on a linoleum floor, over to the door and turned the squeaky handle. 

Pete never had someone to show him how to hunt or feed properly so he used the tactic that had gotten him most things he wanted in life and afterlife. He always hunted through sex. 

The only downfall of it was that it lead him to be horrible at sneaking around and the word 'subtle' to not even register in his mind. 

Pete grinned and silently cheered, he had one foot in the bedroom and one foot out the door and was yet to be stopped. His euphoria was short lived as he heard a rustling behind him and spun on his heel. 

Patrick was standing right behind him, hair messy but, in Petes eyes, extremely hot. Pete froze in place, staring at Patrick and waiting for him to lash out maybe even end his existence on the spot. 

The time never came. Patrick crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow. 

"Where are you off to this early in the morning?" He asked in a monotone. 

Pete puffed out his cheeks and chose his words carefully. "Breakfast...?" He gave Patrick a nervous grin. 

"Where were you planning on taking your breakfast?" He cocked his hip to the side, looking like an angry mother. 

Petes eyes darted around as if he would spot a huge flashing sign that held the perfect answer. 

Said sign didn't exist. 

He looked down "um... okay fine! I was going home! This is kidnap, you know! I'm a kid and you've napped me!" He poked Patrick's chest angrily as if it would prove his point. 

Patrick barked out an unamused laugh and caught Petes hand. 

"First of all, touch me again and see what happens." He growled menacingly, making Pete cower back. 

"Secondly, you're only a kid mentally-" he cut off Petes whine with a sharp glare "- and if I might add. You planned to kill me first."

Pete shut his mouth at that. Yes, that's what he'd planned but it wasn't his fault he had to survive. He thought of voicing those thoughts to Patrick but he knew better by now. 

He couldn't escape Patrick, he could barely even stay on his good side. He bowed his head and shuffled back into the room, allowing Patrick to click the door shut behind him. 

"I still don't see what the purpose of me being here is," he looked down at the floor and shuffled his boots. Said boots made Patrick wonder if Pete had pulled two dead cats over his feet, it was definitely no question they were women's shoes. Come to think of it, they were also women's pants. 

"If you know, it won't be any fun. Now do I have to bound and gag you or can I trust you to stay with me and be quiet?" 

Pete rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his unhealed chest. 

"I'm into some kinky shit but that last part was just rude." 

Patrick face palmed. "I swear, you're louder than a pig in purgatory." 

It was now Patrick's turn to pack away his things. He did so a lot quicker and quieter than Pete. 

"Is that my hoodie?" He turned to glare at Pete, who for some reason looked embarrassed and guilty. 

"Maaaybee" he shifted from his tip toes to his heels awkwardly. 

Patrick looked him and up and down before giving a curt nod. He hated to admit it but Pete looked cute in his clothes. 

"Alright. Come on." He held the door open for the taller boy.


	6. Don’t Eat Soap

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"No."

"Are we there yet?"

"No!"

"Are we there yet?"

"NO!" Patrick snapped at Pete. 

Pete teared up and pulled the hood of Patrick's orange jumper up. He had been cuddling up in it for the past few hours, sleeves pulled over his hands and the bottom pulled over his knees. 

He turned away from the younger boy the best he could in the small, confined space and sniffled. Patrick yelling meant he was mad, and him being mad meant he could kill him... again. 

Patrick glanced at him and groaned, he thought being with another fully grown man would mean some sort of maturity, obviously for once he was wrong. 

"You're really that sensitive?" 

Pete just crossed his arms over his chest with a quiet huff. He stared out the window at the passing streetlights and trees in the middle of nowhere. 

"Pete.." Patrick groaned out. He didn't really care about Petes 'precious feelings' but he couldn't handle a long drive with a moody Pete. 

He sighed softly.   
"Hey listen, there's a coffee shop in an hour or so, we can stop there if you want?"

Pete had been pestering him for a place to stop, even threatened Patrick he'd piss in his car, but to no avail. He immediately perked up at the thought of stretching his legs and looked over at him. He slowly pulled the hood down and flattened his hair out. 

"Promise?"

Patrick rolled his eyes "promise." 

Pete hesitantly held out his pinky, making Patrick groan loudly and exaggeratedly. Despite his annoyance he shook his pinky, making Pete immediately brighten up. 

"Are we ther-"

"One more word out of your mouth, Peter Louis Kingston Wentz the third, and I swear to fuhk!"

Pete huffed "Hey! Wait! How do you know my full name?!" 

Patrick gave him a pointed look that immediately shut him up. 

"You told me."

"Did not. No questions about Patrick's knowledge, got it." He muttered under his breath. 

Patrick resisted a face palm. Pete began fiddling with the radio, making a static buzz fill the car. Patrick couldn't stand it and quickly turned it off, of course making pete complain. 

Pete quickly got over himself and even though a few minutes ago was worried of what Patrick could do, now he had thrown caution to the wind. He smiled widely and poked Patrick's cheek. 

Patrick swatted him away... the first few times before letting it become a thing. 

"Hey, hey Patrick?"

"What, Pete?"

"Why do you think people play guitar?"

"There are many reasons, Pete"

"But why don't they just.... become the guitar?"

Patrick stayed silent at that, leading Pete to believe he was thinking about it, not marvelling at Petes stupidity. Maybe if he'd left the static on Pete would've kept quiet. 

"How the hell-"

Pete leaned over the gears to whisper in Patrick's ear one word that officially made Patrick believe Pete was the dumbest person he had ever met. 

"Evolution." He started strumming his hair while making off-key guitar noises. 

In just over an hour, Patrick had managed to locate a coffee shop and get Pete inside without too much hassle. As Pete sprinted to the bathroom, Patrick lay out his map on the small, crusty table. 

The two boys were accompanied by a clinically exhausted waitress and an old man dressed nicely, Patrick briefly wondered what he was doing at a place like this at this time of morning and if he was still breathing. 

He ordered himself a regular black coffee and Pete whatever on the small menu had the most sugar. 

Pete came tumbling back and perched himself on the seat across from Patrick, grinning. Patrick questioningly raised his eyebrow. Pete, for some reason, took that as a go ahead to shove his hands in Patrick's face. 

"Doesn't the soap smell great?!" 

Patrick's scolding was halted by the waitress giving them their coffees, almost falling asleep on their table and walking back behind the counter to wait for presumably nobody. 

Pete happily sipped on his iced-mocha-latte-whatever-the-hell-thingy happily. 

"Look Pat, it has sprinkles."

"That's great Pete. Now we need to work out where we are," he took a gulp of his own coffee before putting it down on the map, the whole thing taking up the table. 

Pete scanned the map upside down and pointed at a certain spot near the top left corner. 

"Somewhere here, I saw that monument thing on the way here."  
Pete informed him smugly, glad to be of some form of use. 

From Petes comment, Patrick was able to pin-point their location, how far they'd get before sunrise and what motels they could stop at. 

They downed the rest of their coffee, Patrick cursing at the coffee ring left on the map, before paying, getting petrol from down the road, and getting back on the freeway. 

Pete was slowly dozing off in the passengers seat before a loud piercing sound broke through his vision of dogs jumping over a fence. He groggily rubbed his eyes and was thrown Patrick's Phone. 

"Answer it, put it on speaker, say my name and that you're in the car with me." Patrick demanded. 

Pete rolled his eyes but answered the phone and put it on speaker. "Hi, this is Patrick's car, I'm Pete and I'm here."

Patrick held back a groan, all his business deals were going to go down the drain with Pete. He was seriously considering leaving him somewhere and driving away. 

"Who the hell is Pete?"

"I'm Patrick's boyfriend," he supplied helpfully. 

Patrick almost crashed the car with the soul purpose of smacking Pete with everything he had. 

"He is NOT my boyfriend!" Patrick yelled. 

Pete had dropped the phone and was now clutching his cheek and crying. Patrick's hand mark was bright red and god fuhk did it sting like a bitch. 

Patrick sighed and tried to stifle Petes sobs anyway he could, eventually giving up and picking up the phone. 

"I didn't call you as a joke, Patrick," the gruff voice sounded through the phone. 

"Right yeah, what's up, frank I'm guessing?"

"Yup, it's Tyler.."

"If this is what I think it is-"

"It is."

"Oh shit.."

"Please Patrick, he needs to be exorcised."

"We'll be there as soon as possible."

"Patrick, if that blubbering mess I hear is coming with you, keep him in check." And with that, Frank hung up. 

Patrick threw his phone into the backseat and rubbed his eyes. It was really not his day.


	7. Cheating Death and Demons

"Patrick." 

It was Frank's first word, when he opened the door. All things considered, he did not look very happy to see him. Maybe it was warranted. Probably. It was the sixth time this had happened since Patrick had left high school. He did not enjoy Frank's company, and Frank didn't enjoy his. They despised each other, although kept the animosity to a minimum while working together. The minimum for them, though, was quite a lot.

"Come in." Frank said, stepping away from the door. Patrick hopped over the threshold quite gracefully, careful not to disturb the salt line right at the door. He'd never really understood why Frank did that, and then proceeded to take demon hosts into his house. It didn't make much sense.

Frank stared at Patrick for about a minute of edgy silence, as if paying homage to the death of their long held streak of ignoring each other's existence. Patrick wasn't at all intimidated by Frank, even though he had a three inch height advantage over him, and a death stare that'd make Lucifer quake in his shoes. Patrick had his own secret weapon, an aura of danger which hung around him, a corrupted halo, that made him seem more like a tall, hunched undertaker hiding daggers under a long, black cloak rather than what he was, a short, perfectly poised college student on a gap year, hiding silver knives and tiny bottles of arsenic in the pockets of a tangerine and terracotta striped cardigan.

"Who is it?" he asked, breaking the silence. Frank flinched before he answered.

"Nobody major. Just a low level demon, but there's something about Tyler, it always comes back. I can't get it out permanently."

A silence. A dusty wind blew through the halls.

"I'm taking it that you haven't tried killing him and resurrecting him again."

"No. I'm not doing that to Tyler. Don't you think he's been through enough already?" Frank said, starting to walk up the stairs. About halfway up, he turned around and looked down at Patrick. "Did you just tell me, in a convoluted way, to turn Tyler off and turn him back on again?" he asked, suspiciously. Patrick put on an innocent face.

"No, I just told you to do the obvious thing and take his soul, separate the demon from it and give the soul back to him. Easy."

Frank's seething fury at his rival boiled over.

"Oh, easy for you to say, after graduating top of your class at the academy, that must be so simple. It's just too bad that you had to cheat to even finish the exam. Black magic really helps when you spent half of practicals doodling in the margins of your spellbook!"

"Shut up, Frank. Just because you're second to me, doesn't mean you have to be bitter about it."

"I was only second to you because you brought back a lost soul to do your practical for you! You have to fucking kill someone for that, don't think I don't know that!"

Ryan faded into the mirror behind him, and glared at Patrick. Patrick made a face back at him. Frank whirled around.

"Honestly, as far as I'm concerned, it was fair game. You tried to poison me. Or rather, your vampire boyfriend did. I know about that whole thing with the Way brothers. We used to be friends once. I know all your secrets." Patrick said. Ryan cackled.

"Even the ones you never told him."

Frank gritted his teeth. Patrick continued.

"Now, as much as I'd love to expose you for the necrophilia obsessive fake that you really are, we have a demon to exorcise, I believe, and my friend is waiting in the car."

"You mean your vampire boyfriend?" Frank sniped. Patrick walked past him on the stairs, clutching his black sheep wool bad luck charm in his left hand. He hoped that that would give him enough power, along with the few ladders he'd walked under, and the many times he'd coaxed his cat, Tiffany to walk across his path, to summon Ryan's black magic again. If not, there was a high chance he wouldn't be able to save Tyler again. 

Patrick reached the landing, and opened the door to Tyler's room. The scrawny boy lay on the bed, shivering. Another boy from Patrick's old Magic-Chemistry class, Josh looked around. 

"Oh. It's you."

A lot of people didn't like Patrick. He couldn't understand why. He was likeable enough. He guessed they were just jealous.

"It's me." He said, sitting down. Ryan sat in the mirror, in the refection of the empty chair across from him. Patrick shivered, and glared at the mirror.

"Sorry. " Ryan said, getting up quickly. 

Tyler looked at the three, wide eyed. 

"Why are you here?" Ty asked.

"I'm here to get the demon out of you." Patrick replied.

Josh looked confused.

"But Frank did that yesterday."

"Yeah, he said I could stay here for a bit. He seemed a bit off this morning, though."

Patrick turned around. Frank was standing in the doorway, a silver knife shining in the half-light.

"Frank, what are you doing?" Patrick asked. Frank's eye twitched. He gulped. And the pupils in his eyes began to twist, like a whirlpool. Patrick picked his own dagger out of the lining of his cardigan.

"Frank?" he asked, again. Frank's voice jittered.

"Whatever it wants me to."

The pupils exploded into the rest of his eye. They turned fully mars black, empty, devoid of a human soul. A smile crept up Frank's cheeks.

"Lucifer has a message for you, Patrick. He says he wants you dead."


	8. Death Before Divorcee

Pete hasn't always been so happy. 

Pete hadn't always been so annoying. 

Pete hadn't always went with the flow of things. 

Pete hadn't always slept around. 

Pete hadn't always been anywhere near okay. 

Pete hadn't always been Pete. 

Pete was once, somewhat, shy.   
Pete was once bullied, for his bi-sexuality and the way he dressed. 

Pete once went to a therapist.   
Pete once tried to end his life. 

When Pete was twenty one, everything got too much for him. His first proper boyfriend had broken his heart, his therapist was full of shit and all his friends had moved on. 

He knew it was aggravating for them to always be around him and he knew they would eventually leave. But it felt surreal, he had lost it all at once. 

He had always complained about everything to them, he never realised how it must've made them feel. Come to think of it, he barely knew anything about them but they knew all his secrets, all his lies, all of it. 

His mother had died when he was young so his father had raised him. But he yelled. He yelled so much that even when Pete was a grown man his father made him cry. He had hit him when he yelled, Pete and his siblings stitched each other back together after. Pete hadn't talked to them in a while. 

None of them knew now. They didn't know, or probably care, that he was sitting outside of Best Buy at 2:30am, blaring music with a bottle of pills in his hand. 

He gripped the steering wheel tight with his free hand, maybe there was another way out. Maybe there was something else. He shook his head and drown out those thoughts. He'd had enough of waiting. 

He downed the pills. 

A year later he was happier. He had survived, much to his dismay at the time, and moved on. He had refused therapy and gotten into music to distract himself. 

He had also moved on from his ex. He now had a wonderful girlfriend who he'd loved very much. She supported him, listened and in return, he'd listened to her. 

Then he was turned into a bloodsucking vampire. A monster he thought only to exist in fairytales. He had taken a small escape from his new life to remember his past. It wasn't the best decision now that he thought about it but there's nothing wrong with being shitfaced drunk once in a while. 

He was bitten on his way home, stumbling across an alley. Cliché  
right? He didn't even see who it was. 

His girlfriend hadn't believed him at first when he came back hours later. Who would believe a drunk man, stories of supposedly non-existent creatures tumbling from his mouth like waves crashing on gagged rocks. 

But then she could see for herself. His eyes, the fangs, the change in behaviour. She loved Pete and nothing would change that. Until death do we part. 

And death had parted them, on both sides. Pete became the living dead and his girlfriend, simply the dead. 

It had been an accident of course, he couldn't believe what he had done afterwards. They were just together one night, just holding onto one another. How were they to know?

How would they have known that Pete would get caught up in the moment?  
How would they have known that Pete had to feed so soon?  
How would she have known that Pete didn't know any other way?

Pete didn't attend her funeral, he couldn't. The guilt built up inside of him was too much and the ceremony was held in daylight. 

Pete had visited her grave every night for a year and a half. He had brought her flowers, lilies, her favourite. He had sat and talked to her as he did when her heart was still pumping. This time he couldn't listen in return and he felt useless. 

He took naps beside her grave, having an alarm so he could get home on time. 

People thought he had died with her in some freak accident and they just couldn't find his body. That's exactly what had happened. The story just remained mostly untold. 

His headstone was right beside hers, like an old married couple who had bickered and bickered but deep down truly loved each other. He had taken his naps on the old mount of dirt where his body should have laid. Peaceful. No one but bugs for company. 

In that year and a half he had slept with countless people, those people were reported dead the morning after. 'Alcohol poisoning' is what they had claimed. It just proved how much they really cared. 

Pete learned not to care so much. Caring lead to hurting. Pete couldn't handle anymore hurt. 

He had no one to guide him so he used the one thing that had always worked for him. He brought women and men back to shitty hotels where their bodies were found hours after he had fled. 

It wasn't normal he supposed, he had been bitten on a street corner. But he didn't know how to do that. He didn't know how to judge who would fight back and who would scream loudest. So he wore them out, waited for them to sleep before he attacked. By the time they had woken to struggle it was too late. 

He was the last thing they all saw. He had deemed that a good thing for them. 

He was now twenty seven. He was out on his latest hunt and he wanted someone easy. He spotted the perfect man. A tad shorter than him, slightly chubby and extremely good looking. He had chatted up the man, dancing with him before taking him home and having sex with him. 

That's when it all went wrong again. The man was bossy, he was bossy in a way Pete would never admit he liked. But Pete couldn't complain too much. He was still walking the earth. Now he had a distraction. And for the first time in years, he felt very much alive.


	9. Cultural Appropriation

Patrick got back into the car and sighed heavily. Once he had done that, there was a silence. And then he sighed heavily yet again. There was dirt on his cheeks, and the ends of the sleeves of his cardigan were frayed and torn. He looked very worn, and slightly shaken.

"Are you alright?" Pete asked, but it was a stupid question. That question always was, when it needed to be asked. Anyone who deserves to be asked it has already given you a non-verbal answer. And the answer is generally the same. A lie. 

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine."

"No I am not. What did you think, I went in and had a nice cup of tea with a demon?"

"No, but... aren't you used to this kind of thing by now?"

"Having one of my old classmates lure me to his house, develop a British accent and then try to murder me? Yeah, because that happens to me so often."

Pete couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not, because it honestly sounded like something that would happen to Patrick quite a lot, from what he knew of him. He shook his head and left the conversation there, hanging in the air, until the silence in its wake was swept away by the sound of the engine rumbling.

It was about twenty minutes later that he, in a fit of boredom and restlessness, started flicking through everything in his phone. He played some weird Flappy Bird-esque games with vibrant colours that hurt his eyes a bit, in the dark, until he tired of that, too, and flicked to his call logs. He hadn't used his phone in a while. He didn't really have anyone to text, but that was okay, because he could text himself. 

There was a call from three days ago, though. A call from Ashlee. They must've found her phone. He wondered where that had been. It was an old phone, five years old, to be more exact, five years, six months and thirteen days, to be exactly precise. He'd bought it for her birthday, a week before her unfortunate demise. He looked at the call details. It had been answered, but he didn't remember answering it. According to the time stamp, he would've been well asleep. 

"Patrick?" He asked, not looking up from the phone.

"Yes?" Patrick answered, in a monotonous voice. He wasn't in a very good mood. Or maybe just thinking. That was another one of the things that Patrick did that Pete didn't understand. His bad mood voice was the same as his thinking voice. It didn't make much sense to him. He was probably just thinking.

"Did you get this call, like three days ago?"

"From Ash. Yes, I did."

"And did you answer it?"

"Um, yeah, I'd heard it go off a few times before, so figured it was important."

Another lie. It seemed to be habit. Pete didn't question it though.

"Did you talk to them?"

"Well, yeah I'm hardly going to just ignore her completely. Answer the phone and stay silent. Would you tend to do that much?"

"You spoke... who was it?"

"It was like, a girlfriend of yours? Saying you had plans? I didn't have you down as that type, if I'm honest. Actually, now I think of it, maybe that's why you did tag along with me. You were looking for an excuse to skip out on one of the only commitments you've ever made in your life."

"Not true, and not the point. You said it was my girlfriend?"

"Yeah, that's what she said anyway." 

"Well, it probably wasn't. What did she sound like?"

"What do you mean? She sounded like a pissed off girlfriend. I don't blame her. Forgetting anniversaries is not how you treat a lady."

"What did her voice sound like?"

"I don't know! It was kind of deep, but like, not. It was kind of... Valley Girl. Yeah that's it."

"Valley Girl... I don't understand this."

"What?"

"My girlfriend. Ash."

"You owe her an apology."

"I owe a corpse an apology?"

"The fuck?"

"She's been dead for five years! It was her anniversary three days ago!"

Patrick went quiet. He ran his fingers through his hair.

"I'm sorry." He said, quietly.

"It's fine. I didn't expect you to know. Just don't assume things, okay?"

"Okay."

Another freighted silence came down on their shoulders like a particularly heavy blanket. It was now Pete's turn to let out a heavy sigh, but it came out a lot more like a deflating balloon, as he sank down in his seat. He stayed like that for maybe a minute, maybe an hour, maybe just a couple of seconds until something occurred to him. He had never told Patrick that it was her anniversary. And yet he had told him that it was. Shamed him about forgetting it. That wasn't just a lucky guess, surely.

"How did you know it was her anniversary?" Pete asked.

"What? I didn't. You told me that it was."

"No, I didn't."

"Yes you did. You said her anniversary was three days ago."

"No, you said it was before I said that it was. Did you know her or something?"

"No um.. She told me. On the phone. It was your anniversary. That you two had made plans."

"No, she didn't, Patrick. Why would we both make plans for the anniversary of her death, it's not particularly happy, is it?"

"Neither are funerals, but people make plans for those. Sometimes years in advance."

"Patrick. You said it was her anniversary. How the fuck could you possibly know that?"

Patrick glanced at him with a darkness to his eyes that said, simply "Stop or I'll make you." Pete gulped.

"S-sorry."

"What did I tell you about asking stupid questions?"

"S-sorry."

"What did I tell you about asking questions about things that I may or may not know?"

"N-not to?"

"Exactly. And stop stammering. Some people would consider it cultural appropriation."

"Cultural what?"

Patrick tutted and rolled his eyes.

"Cultural appropriation." He said, as though talking to a six year old.

"What's that?" 

Patrick made a strange noise that involved throatily clicking his tongue. Pete was very sure it was meant to be a tut, but it hadn't worked out like that, so he decided that he was not going to call it that. 

"I'll tell you later."

And with the morning gently creeping over the horizon, they turned a corner and drove down a quiet country road. 

Going in exactly the opposite direction to the way they should be.

Pete was going to ask Patrick about it, but he didn't. He knew Patrick was in a snappy mood now, which would continue for quite a while, and Pete didn't want to get his hand bitten off. Metaphorically, of course. Besides, he knew now, not to ask stupid questions.

And Patrick didn't do anything for no reason.


	10. Alone on a Picnic Bench

"I'm tired." Pete said.

Patrick ignored him.

"I'm hungry." He said, putting all the whiny emphasis on the last syllable. 

Again, Patrick ignored him.

"I need to go to the toilet." 

Patrick glared at him.

"Now that's just unrealistic, Pete, I don't even believe that."

"You don't believe most things I say."

"Well, you tried to end me on the night I met you, so I think I have a good reason not to trust you."

"So did you! And then you put me in a car and told me you were driving to the other side of the country!"

"No, you put yourself in the car. And then you told me that I couldn't play my music in my own car."

"I never said that!"

"Oh. Good" 

Patrick flicked the radio on, and took the Kate Bush tape out of his tape player. He rooted down the side of the car door, and pulled out a tape labelled 'Divas of the Eighties.'

"No!"

Patrick glared at him.

"Yes."

Pete groaned and folded his arms. Patrick tutted.

"Your attitude stinks. Do you want me to leave you at the side of the road?"

Pete considered it. He wasn't sure where he was but he'd figure it out.

"Yes."

Ten minutes later, Pete was sitting by the side of the road. Alone on a picnic bench. Patrick looked at him from the car, and threw his bag at him.

"You're fifteen miles away from Charlotte, which is where I'm going to be until tomorrow. Sun rises in five hours. Get to me by seven pm tomorrow or you're grounded."

"You can't ground me, I'm an adult."

"Either start acting like it or get walking."

Pete turned his nose up at the proposition of actually being mature and sat up on the picnic bench. Patrick closed the car door. 

"Your loss."

"Your loss of virginity." Pete said, sticking his tongue out. Patrick had time for one more eye roll, before he sped away, leaving Pete speechless and confused. 

He sat there on the picnic bench. 

"I know where Charlottesville is..." he said, cockily. Fifteen miles to the- which way had it been that Patrick had gone? To the East? It was the east, wasn't it? Or was it the south? Whatever, it was that way. He'd thought he was in Carolina somewhere, but hell, whatever, he was in Virginia. He sniggered. Virginia was the wrong place for Patrick now. Ha. Virginia.

He'd covered what felt like twelve miles, but was probably more like five when he realised what he'd failed to realise before. He was starving. He hadn't eaten in fifteen days. 

He let out a weak noise, he was confused at why he didn't see anything that hinted at a town being ahead, not even a sign. He thought Charlottesville was more popular. He desperately sniffed around for anything, he'd even risk getting his nails dirty to catch a rat at this point. 

Then he smelt it. It was faint, but it was blood. He ran forward, eyes darting everywhere. He let out a strangled noise at the sight of a certain leaf. That certain leaf had a drop of blood on it. The smell had seemed stronger than a lonesome drop. 

But he'd take what he was given. He ran to it and tried to lick it off, not caring how bizarre it might look. He didn't care if someone were to drive by and see an angsty looking young adult vigorously licking a singular leaf. He really didn't. 

Pete being Pete, fanged at the worst moment, just as he had bit the leaf. He glared at the offending plant stuck on his fang and ripped it to shreds out of frustration. But he could still smell the blood. 

He dove into the bush in a haste of hunger. He let out a bark like shout. 

There, right in front of him, was a body. A dead one to be exact. He scrambled over to it as fast as light and drained it. He could now proudly say he had hunted. He had found a human on their own, grabbed them and bit them. There was no reason to add they were already dead, he concluded. 

He smugly got up and started back on his trek to civilisation. He had no way of telling the time but he couldn't image more than three hours had passed. He let out a huff and took off in a run, a wave of energy now consuming him. 

It wasn't short lived. He could see the sun starting to peek out over the horizon and hissed. Did Patrick take the whole town and move it out of spite? He guessed that's what had happened, it was the only logical explanation in Petes mind. 

As time went on, Pete stayed close to the bushes, bathing in the small amount of shade they offered. He had started to get pins and needles all across his body. He looked down at his hands and flexed his fingers. He winced, opening his eyes in time to watch his fingertips turn to ash. 

Patrick wasn't exactly worried about Pete but he couldn't help but wonder. He was sure Pete would've came to his senses by now, he couldn't be this immature. 

He could see the sun start to rise, a deadly ombré of yellows, pinks and oranges. He decided to throw caution to the wind and jump in his car, speeding back the old lane he had left Pete on. 

This wasn't a 'Patrick was desperately in love with Pete and wanted to save him' moment you should no better than to expect. No, Patrick had plans. Selfish plans. And he needed Pete in order to go through with them. 

He stopped beside the picnic bench, expecting to see Pete rocking back and forth under the table, staying in the shade waiting for him. But no, Patrick was wrong. A rare occurrence. 

He sighed and began speeding down the road again, hoping Pete hadn't been idiotic enough to take some 'short cut' through the forest. That sounded like a Pete thing to do. 

Patrick cursed and hit the brakes on the car. He leaned over and opened the passengers side "Pete! Get in!" 

Pete looked up, on his knees and cradling his hands. He looked terrified. He weakly got up and jumped in the car, for once staying silent while Patrick sped back to his motel. 

Pete turned to glare at Patrick "you have caused confusion and delay!" He yelled, voice cracking on each of the last three words. 

"You're a fuhking idiot."

"I just went the wrong way... Am I grounded..?"


	11. The Worst Things About Patrick

Pete couldn't believe this. He just had a near death experience and Patrick had made him sleep on the floor. It was his 'punishment'. His punishment for scaring Patrick. As if that selfish bitch had feelings for anyone except himself.

He curled up into a ball and flexed his hands, regretting the action immediately. The bones cracked, and the skin was still tight from being pricked and pulled and burned away by the sun. His fingerprints no longer existed. He could hear Patrick's even, steady breathing from above the bed. He'd been asleep for hours, not having it in him to yell for too long. Oh, how he'd love to make that sleep last a little longer. Interrupt those steady breaths, make them gasp, and have his eyes snap open, wide and scared. Bite him, and never have him wake again. Bury his body in an unmarked grave in the forest. He knew he couldn't though. He could never.

Pete tossed and turned again, trying to get comfortable on the ratty blanket. He closed his eyes in another futile attempt to get some sleep. His eyes shot back open with a sharp intake of breath. 

Whenever he closed his eyes he could see the body. Pete had killed many people but he had never saw them dead. He always drained them and looked away. 

The only corpse he had seen was Ashlee's. That was the last thing he wanted to relive. He glanced at his phone, Ashlee had called him. It didn't make any sense to him. None of it did. Her calling, Patrick knowing it was her anniversary, nothing added up. 

He sighed softly. 

"Patrick?" He whispered to deaf ears. 

"Pat?" He tried again. 

"'Trick?" He slowly sat up so he could see Patrick. 

"'Tricky?" He climbed closer to Patrick's frame, turned to face the other wall. 

"Lunchbox?" He crawled onto the bed. 

Patrick grunted in reply, not happy to be woken. 

"Are you awake?"

Patrick turned to glare at him. 

"I wasn't."

"Can I have the bed?"

"Pete, I will throw you out the window and into the sunlight."

Pete looked scared for a moment but shook his head. 

"I'll share."

"I won't. Back on the floor you go," Patrick gently pushed Pete's arm, hoping to god he'd just listen and give up. 

Pete did the exact opposite. He scrabbled under the covers and propped his head on his hand. 

"Hi."

"Go away." Patrick turned his back to him. 

Patrick had almost fallen back asleep when Pete spoke. 

"I ate today.."

"Would you like a fuhking medal?"

Pete ignored Patrick's comment and continued talking. 

"It was already dead.." he sounded deflated, nothing like his usual hyperactive self. 

"That must've been handy. They're always asleep for you. Or dead. You really strike me as the kind of person who's never done a days work in your life or your afterlife."

"I'm serious, Patrick." Pete whispered. 

"And so am I. You're sad because you ate from one body. Big fuhking deal. Do you want to know how many times I've dealt with that kind of thing? Do you know how many times I've dealt with tragedy and death in general? No, and you don't fuhking want to. Now get back on the floor and let me sleep." Patrick snapped. 

Pete bit his lip but did as he was told. He climbed back under the slightly ripped, but thankfully clean blanket that had come with the room, on the bottom of the bed and curled up on the carpet, which was old, hard and offputtingly sickly sweet smelling. He stared into the black abyss of the room, tears filling his eyes. 

Patrick didn't know any 'tragedy'. Patrick only knew Patrick. He was another entitled moron who wanted to use him, lead him along so far and leave him. It was just one big power trip, for Patrick to see how far he could get, to see how much he could fool him before he noticed something was up. Patrick only cared for his damn self. Pete couldn't work with that. Pete needed constant attention and praise, not whatever bullshit Patrick supplied him with. 

Pete decided he needed to get out. He needed to be fast and subtle, which were both things he wasn't good at, but could probably manage. He was growing frustrated the more he thought about the position he was in. He couldn't leave the motel. It was still bright out, four in the evening. But still he couldn't stand another minute in the room with this psychopath. 

He slowly stood up and dusted an earwig off his chest. He looked at Patrick. Asleep, from what he could tell.

"I'm leaving and you're an asshole." 

He spoke to test the waters. When he got no form of acknowledgement, he grabbed his bag and his black converse shoes. He tiptoed to the white door, paint peeling off in patches and slowly opened it, as tightly as he could manage to do. He eased out and shut it carefully after him. 

He only pulled his shoes back on when he was a safe distance from the room. He looked through all the doors. He guessed no one would really stay in a motel during a hot day. He found, what he presumed to be an unoccupied room and closed the door after himself. He took off his shoes and climbed into the bed.

He tossed and turned some more, not feeling any better about anything. Now he just felt alone. He flicked through his phone, finger hovering over the call button on Ashlee's contact. 

He suddenly through his phone and tugged at his hair. There was no way on earth Patrick had talked to Ashlee. Patrick was winding him up, Ashlee was dead, Pete was a murderer. He had had five years to adjust, and he still hadn't adjusted to that fact. Killing strangers was fine. Killing your loving girlfriend who's never done anything in her life to wrong you, that's where the problem lies. That's where it lay. With Pete, who, just for a moment was transported back to that first night without her.

It had never bothered him, killing. Humans killed other animals, why he couldn't he kill them? It was just food, after all. Sometimes, he liked to try kid himself that he was better than all of them, that he had the right to kill them, but that never lasted long. He wasn't made for being totally heartless. He had always been indifferent about it, not really caring. But the more he lay and thought of the dead body, the more he thought of Ashlee. 

He killed so many innocent people, for selfish reasons. He was just like Patrick. He bit his own arm to muffle the aggravated scream that came from his lips. He kicked his legs, flailing his body around the bed. He didn't have his meds, he couldn't take them anymore, they made no difference to his behaviour since he was turned. Nothing did. He was even more unstable than ever before. Unstable and dangerous.

He thought back to a time when he would get aggravated with college or work or just life in general and throw the same tantrum. Ashlee would wrap her slender arms around him, talk to him, grounding him, and make sure he took his meds. And now she was dead, and he'd killed her, and there was nobody to hear him scream and cry but Patrick, and some old dudes in a crappy motel he'd been dragged to by Patrick, miles and miles away from anyone because of Patrick. Patrick, Patrick, Patrick. Everything came down to that little boy in the hat, so small he'd be mistaken for a teenager. Patrick was every problem he'd ever had, just a hundred times worse.

He was sobbing at this point, for the first time in three and a half years he craved the feeling of being held, comforted. He just wanted Ashlee back. She'd had always been slow with him when needed, treating him as if he was a three year old. He had always given out to her, wanting to be treated his age, but now that he thought back, he needed that control. 

He couldn't be in control, he couldn't handle being in control. Patrick had left him to his own devices once and in that time he managed to get a haunting image stuck in his head and almost turned into a pile of ash. 

He hated Patrick. He wanted to end him. He wanted to see the life leave those cold blue eyes of his, and know that for once, he hadn't screwed everything up. That he'd done the right thing in ridding the world of yet another selfish, entitled kid who probably grew up with a life of ponies and swimming pools in his backyard. He knew he couldn't, and that the second he saw Patrick he'd do whatever he said, but for now he wanted to believe he would win. 

He set his alarm early so he could make an escape. He fell asleep with tear stains on his cheeks, and with the idea, just the small hope that Patrick wouldn't be up when he wanted to make his escape. After all this time, hope was all he had.


	12. Wild Creatures

Patrick was gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were whiter than paper. His jaw was firmly set and his eyes locked on the dark road in front of him. 

"What the actual fuhk?"

Pete sat, hugging his knees, in the back seat of the car. He was curled up in Patrick's jumper, which he had poorly convinced Patrick was his, pouting like a kicked puppy. 

"What do you mean 'what the actual fuhk?'?! I was trying to go home! Away from the psychopath in the front seat!" Pete screamed back at him, not completely done with his tantrum. 

In that moment he wanted nothing more than to reach over and rip Patrick's head off his shoulders. He balled his fists angrily, not caring about the searing pain travelling up his arms. 

"I want out! I want out! I want out! I wanna be back home with Ashlee!" His voice cracked on her name. He buried his face in his knees and tugged at his own hair. 

Sobs racked his body. Patrick glanced at him in the rear view mirror. He'd never seen him cry like this, only a few tears over petty Pete things. 

"Pete-"

"NO! You don't get to talk to me!" Pete screamed, he could almost feel his throat rip at the intensity of it. 

"You fuhking psychopathic bastard!" Pete decided to attack the empty passengers seat instead of Patrick himself. He ripped the fine leather to shreds. His vision was clouded with red. 

He wanted to hurt everything and anything, especially Patrick.

By this point Patrick had pulled over. He jumped out and dragged Pete out of the car before any more damage could be done. Pete kicked and screamed, throwing wild punches in hopes one would hit Patrick. 

The younger boy let out groans whenever Pete would catch him. He wrapped his arms around the screaming boy, trapping his arms at his sides. 

Pete tried desperately to struggle free from his grip. 

"Don't touch me!"

"Not what you said when we met," Patrick muttered. 

They stayed there for what felt like hours, until Pete had calmed down. 

"If I let go are you gonna go all ninja cunt on me?"

Pete slumped against him and shook his head wordlessly. Patrick threw him back into the car and got in. 

"What did my seat ever do to you?"   
Patrick examined the shredded seat that might just be able to be salvaged. Pete huffed and crossed his arms. He didn't answer, making a long silence fall over the car. 

Patrick pressed play on the tape deck. 'I Wanna Dance With Somebody' cut through the air like a knife through an unpleasant slice of cake.

Pete groaned loudly like the song was going to tamper with his 'masculinity'. 

Only a minute later, Patrick was regretting ever decision he'd ever made. He made a promise to himself that the next time they stopped he'd get himself earplugs. 

"OH I WANNA DANCE WITH SOMEBODY! I WANNA FEEL THE HEAT WITH SOMEBODY!"

Pete belted at the top of his lungs, dancing around as much as he could in the small space. He was grinning ear to ear and yelling with everything he had. 

Patrick vaguely wondered if Pete would even notice if he turned it off. 

"Do do do do... DO DO! CLOCK STRIKES-"

Patrick resisted the urge to smash one of their faces through the window.

He turned the tape off the second the song was over. 

"Pete I'll ask once more: what the fuhk?"

"What?" Pete was happily bouncing in his seat, a complete mood swing from only a few minutes ago. 

"You went from trying to kill my car to singing along to the gayest song ever."

Pete crossed his arms. 

"Nu uh."

"Pete you were literally-"

"Patrick look!"

Pete pressed his face against the window and pointed. 

"You're famous!"

Patrick froze. He didn't say anything. Absolutely nothing.   
Patrick squinted forward, now realising it wasn't late night traffic he was stuck in, it was an fbi check. 

"Pete are you able to drive?"

"I don't have a license since I was napped but I can... kinda."

"Good enough," Patrick climbed into the back of the car. "Start driving."

Patrick let the backseat down and climbed into the boot, weaving around his stuff. 

"Will they not check the boot?" Pete asked, climbing into the drivers seat happily. 

"I'll fuhking work it out!" Patrick growled. 

Pete held the steering wheel, now realising how much power he had. He pulled up to the stop, bored of sitting and waiting alone. He rolled down his window. 

"Hello Mr. Officer," He chirped. 

The agent looked inside the car suspiciously. 

"What happened to the seat?"

Pete looked at it for a long while before answering. 

"...Raccoon... Wild creatures really but in my opinion, very cute." 

"Seems more of a rabid trouble maker."

Pete huffed at the faint snort from the boot. 

"Can I see your licence?"

"Uh.. you know, this is a really fun role play we have going on but I'm not much for foreplay."

The agent raised his eyebrow "excuse me?" 

"You're excused." Pete smiled and put the car into first gear, ready to drive. 

The agent opened the door. 

"Alright, out you come."

Pete grinned and jumped out. 

"This is what I'm talking about. Do you top or bottom? Because I can do both. But we'll probably need a motel, car sex is not fun."

"You know what, sir? You're free to go." 

The officer tucked a piece of blonde hair behind his hair. He was very, very uncomfortable. Probably still a trainee. But he was willing to let him go just to get out of it. 

"Really already? I'm not even hard yet."

"Now before I arrest you."

"What if that's what I want?" Pete winked. 

"Get in the car."

Pete quickly obliged and waved as he drove away. 

"I can't believe your horrible flirting worked."

"Horrible?! You offend me, Pattycakes. And to think, you fell for that 'horrible' flirting."

"I did not fall for it. I gave into you because you were desperate, and I didn't have to pay you."

Pete looked at the backseat, Patrick couldn't get out of the boot until Pete pulled down the seat or stopped the car. 

He took the nearest exit and started driving back the way they came. Patrick pushed up the cover of the boot and climbed into the passengers side, weary of the seat. 

"Where on earth do you think we're going?"

Pete screamed, almost crashing the car. 

"How the fuhk?!"

"You really aren't the brightest."

Patrick made Pete pulled over, throwing Pete back into the back. He waited for Pete to drift off before quietly turning back on the tape.

He sang to himself as he continued along. He looked up at the next road sign he passed, momentarily. Next stop, New Jersey.


	13. I. Am. Not. Your. Boyfriend.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

"It kind of does."

"I'm a hunter, Pete. What do you think I've done?"

"....Many things..."

"Exactly."

Patrick pulled into a shady car park on the edge of a small, dingy, Jersey town. It looked ghosted. Like it had been abandoned by a very small number of people. He looked over to his companion.

"Now Pete, I need you to do something for me and I need you to do it well."

Pete perked up quickly like a dog who'd just been summoned for walkies.

"Okay! Shouldn't we get a room first though?"

Patrick whacked him in the back of the head with as much force as he could muster, which was actually quite a lot. 

"You horny cunt. No. I need you to be quiet so I can do my work."

Pete sank back into the seat and huffed. He crossed his arms. 

"You're a mood killer," he mumbled. 

"And you're just a killer." Patrick countered and got out of the car. Pete sulkily followed him into what seemed to be more of a three star B&B. It didn't seem like it really cared about the town's dwindling economy. Mainly just about squeezing every last drop of hospitality from the hospitality industry and throwing it all down the drain. 

The walls were a lethargic shade of purple, with sepia siding. The window frames were white, and broken Venetian blinds hung over each one like a pile of timber. They sky outside was a deep navy blue, stars that weren't any colour but bright crisscrossing the fabric of it like sprinkles on a birthday cake. There were no lights outside but for one rapidly flickering streetlight. It illuminated a pair of old trainers dangling from it and drenched them in darkness again, scattering as much light as the waning bulb could muster over the parking lot. 

Patrick talked to the woman behind the small counter while Pete dawdled around like the curious child he was at heart. He eventually got bored of cracked picture frames on the peeling lavender paint and skipped back over to Patrick, poking him repeatedly. 

Patrick growled. 

"What now, Pete?"

A sly grin crawled onto Pete's face. He snatched the room key before Patrick could notice it was being handed to him, and like a minnow darting into the deep, he disappeared into the mustiness of the corridor, leaving a trail of his forgotten belongings behind him. Patrick followed him, giving the bored redhead at the desk an apologetic look. She glanced at him as he walked off, stretching her thin, cracked lips into a rare smile. Perhaps she knew what was up. Then again, maybe she didn't.

Patrick reached the room just in time to see Pete hop onto the bed with a huge smile spreading across his cheeks.

"Mine!"

"You sneaky whore!"

Pete just stuck out his tongue and curled up in the sheets. 

"You know the rules. I get the bed."

"Like I said before pattycakes, I can share." He sang, giggling happily.

"You're gonna have to go pick up all your stuff anyway." 

Pete shook his head.

"You can get them for me, like the amazing boyfriend you are."

Patrick stormed over and grabbed Pete roughly by the neck. 

"I. Am. Not. Your. Boyfriend."

Pete clawed at his hand, looking at him with wide eyes. It took Patrick a minute or so to snap back to reality. He eventually let go, making Pete cough and splutter. 

"Could've fooled me.." Pete choked out. 

"You don't know when to quit do you?" 

"Why don't you teach me a lesson?" Pete winked and smirked at him. 

Patrick resisted the urge to wipe the smug look off his face. 

"You're disgusting."

He stepped away from the bed and picked up his backpack. Pete perked up excitedly, deflating again when Patrick only pulled out three notebooks, a leather-bound diary, and a pocket folder filled with nothing but dog-eared pages.

Patrick put said stack onto the small desk, surprised it didn't break under the weight. It was a cheap looking table.

"See, I win the bed because I need the bed for beddy reasons." Pete lay down, crossing his legs and putting his hands behind his head. The purple shirt he'd been wearing for the last four days had so many creases, it became a sort of concertina pleat effect. His jeans were a coral red colour.

"You better be talking about sleep." Patrick glared and sat down on the rickety stool, shaking pictures of nothing out of the pocket folder.

"If that's what keeps you sane." 

Patrick got to work mapping out the many things he had to do. He had a lot of errands to run, places to be, people to try to ignore as best he could. Jersey. He had one person to visit here, a very old friend of his, who might have forgotten him if it wasn't for the letters he'd sent to him. A postcard here and there. Just telling him what he already knew. Just telling him all the secrets that Patrick couldn't keep secret. Did he even listen anymore? Probably not. But as far as agony aunts go (or agony uncles, rather) he was one of those people who you'd trust just because he didn't know you, and you could trust that he'd take your word for anything.

Pete had been quiet for an unsettling amount of time. The bed squeaking every so often which Patrick figured was just Pete turning over in his sleep. It was ten in the morning. A car drove into the parking lot. Patrick opened the blinds just a little. It had been them coming in here, five hours ago. Now there was a family coming in and they were no longer without company. They'd have to be pretty desperate to want to come here.

A blonde woman got out of the passenger side, helped a little miniature version of herself out of the back. A girl of maybe nine or ten. She limped when she walked. A gruff seeming man with ruddy red cheeks and think-set features followed her, seeming to scold her as she walked inside. The blonde woman looked wary, her heavily made-up eyes dark and sunken. There was a redness around them that suggested that she spent too much time crying. She was about twenty years younger than the man. She looked older, but the way she held herself just put the idea in Patrick's head that she was twenty-two and he knew he was right. He knew he was right about what was going on with them. He closed the curtains and listened to their argument as they walked past his door. He knew.

He rubbed his eyes and pushed the papers away, not having the willpower to look at them again, and lay back in his chair. He closed the blinds as far as they'd go. They were broken, just like the lamp in the corner. He got his laptop out of his backpack and set it up on the table, opened it, and stared at the blank screen for a while, daydreaming, trying to figure out where he was in life, where he'd been and how to navigate the rest, until he closed it down and lay on the table, drained, unmotivated and seriously reconsidering the plan that had brought him here in the first place. 

He wanted to go to college, but to the academy's college. Not to some Ivy League where he'd still have to hide everything he did, although he'd been offered scholarships to most of them. The academy's college was better. He could study anything he wanted, plus a little bit of charms or something on the side. He really wanted to go to the academy still. But they would never let him in until he cleaned up the trail of destruction he'd made when he left. But did he really want it that much? Did he want it enough to drag this pitiful creature out of it's leisurely existence and take it around the country with him like a cow at the market before giving it an end that it would never accept? His. Not it's. His. 

He yawned. He was too tired to contemplate anything. It was five hours past the usual time he went to bed at. He guessed if Pete was asleep he'd be able to roll him out of the bed or just sleep on the other side. Patrick stood up, collected his mess together into a bundle, and bound it together with an old scrunchie. It was neon pink, with little orange and highlighter yellow bobbles on it. It was getting frayed. The elastic would've snapped long ago, but Patrick kept it together. It was a keepsake that he intended to keep for as long as he could. 

He turned around, to kick Pete out of the bed and onto the woven carpet floor and let out a sound not unlike a strangled cat. Pete did have his eyes closed, but he was most definitely not asleep. He probably should've anticipated this. It was bound to happen at some point.

Pete's shirt had joined the mess of his things on the floor. His hand was shoved down his pants and Patrick was made unpleasantly aware that the squeaking of the bed was from Pete's thrusts.

Patrick sighed and sat back down. Why was he not surprised?


	14. Butterflies, Crocodiles and Vampires

"It's a human need!" Pete yelled. He'd gone from mild irritation to the level of rage that Brits feel when someone puts a used teabag in the sink in a matter of seconds. 

"You're not even human." Patrick shot back. His general mood was just that.

"But I still have a dick that needs to be used!"

"You could've gone to the bathroom."

"It's not the same standing up!"

Patrick stared at Pete with a dubious look. 

"You're- you're serious...?"

"Duh," Pete rolled his eyes like Patrick was being stupid.

"You're- I can't- you- Pete! What the fuhk?!"

"It's not the same standing." Pete repeated.

"You're fuhking disgusting!"

"I know."

There was a silence between them. Patrick sat down at his desk again. Pete sat on the bed again. 

Pete growled, baring his fangs. They'd been worn down a bit, probably from his neglecting to eat with them. They were almost back to a somewhat human shape. When he opened his eyes, they were a sort of mustard yellow. Somewhere between their natural hazel and the saffron they had been before.

Patrick stopped being angry. He stopped everything. He stepped back just a little. 

"Pete. Calm down."

"I am calm!"

"Well obviously, not!"

Pete stamped his foot angrily. 

"You dragged me here, and you made me think that I was into you when I totally wasn't, and you're messing around with knives and stuff and expecting me to trust you when you're probably going to kill me! Are we even ever going to get to Chicago? Is that where we're even going? Or am I just going to be your sparkly assistant forever?"

"No."

"Well then let me go! You're depriving me! You never do anything but make me feel bad and stop me doing things, and drag me places I don't want to go, treat me like a dog, or a toddler or both, make me sit in the car for hours and hours and hours and hours, make me love you, scare the crap out of me for fun, keep me up well past the time I should be asleep, say I'm an animal or I'm bad, or I'm rude or I'm doing something you don't like and you never think about how I would feel, and so now I have to tell you! Here it is! I hate it, I hate it so much and you'll never even listen, I just want you to let me the fuck off!"

"Pete, calm down."

He didn't calm down. He launched himself right at Patrick and knocked him onto the ground. Patrick pushed him off, and shook off the feeling of Pete on top of him. He looked over to see where Pete actually was, that place being in a heap by the bed. Upside down. He was bent into a C shape, his legs hanging over his head. 

He was looking over at Patrick, with a slightly bemused look on his face. It looked quite comical. He was hungry, though. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, now about three inches longer than it was before. The ends deviated, like a snake's. Patrick stood up, and brushed off the dirt from the carpet. 

There was a vampire on the floor. After everything he'd done, Patrick had never seen him as what he actually was, not properly. But now there was a vampire on the floor, and Patrick had to quietly resist the urge to stab it. 

There was a knife on the table. Serrated. Patrick picked it up and looked at it. And there was a voice behind him. He looked at the reflection. A small, blonde girl. Blue eyes that were wide and staring into the knife in his hand so intently you'd think she was trying to burn through it. No anger. Just fear. 

Patrick tossed the knife away with far too much force and turned around so quickly he fell off his chair. The knife fell out of the wall it had briefly been embedded in as he crashed to the ground. The girl stayed stock still in the doorway, pale as the vampire hiding from the light under the bed. She was the first to speak.

"Why do you have a knife?"

Patrick tried to figure out what to say. The usual place he'd meet someone this young was, quite sadly when he was ending their polite neighbours. And then, he'd boast about being a hunter, but now he wasn't really sure what to say.

"I need it." He said, finally. 

"For what?"

"For work." 

"What kind of work?"

Patrick inhaled deeply.

"Important work." 

"I'm not an idiot."

"I didn't say you were."

"Do you like... like murder people for other people? Like... like a hitman?"

"Yeah well.. kinda. Not really. Well, kinda really."

"Really or not really?"

"Not really."

"Then what do you have the knife for?!"

"For work. I kill things."

"Like... animals and stuff?"

"Yeah like animals. But like, scary animals."

"Like butterflies?"

Patrick smiled.

"Yeah. Like butterflies."

"You can't kill butterflies with a knife. They're too small."

Gosh darned kids and their curious and simple natures.

"Well, you can with this knife."

"Is it magic?"

"It's a magic knife." 

It was one of the only knives he owned that wasn't magic. Just made of silver. Very old. Very valuable. And very, very sharp. 

"It doesn't look very magic."

"Trust me, it is. Now, if you wouldn't mind going back to your parents?"

Patrick had always been terrible with kids. Even when he himself had been a child he had always kept to himself, harboring a stifling disdain for simplicity. He was complex. Overcomplicated maybe. He always said that that was just him not being basic. Everybody else was basic. But not really. He just told himself that to make himself feel better about himself. Like most things. Accepting that he was terrible with kids was not going to suddenly grant him the power to speak the language of the youth, however, and he most definitely needed to guide this child well out of the way before she got into any trouble. 

He picked the knife off the floor and placed it very gently onto the table. 

"Is it a butterfly knife?" the girl asked, completely innocently.

"Excuse me?" 

"A knife you use for killing butterflies. Is it one of those?"

"No. It isn't. What age are you, then?"

He did not know why he asked her that. He supposed just out of curiosity. But it was curiosity that killed the cat.

"I'm eight and a half. And my name is Cassidy and I like oranges and Fortnite."

He was almost about to ask what Fortnite was, but he stopped himself. He always told everyone else not to ask stupid questions. And now he'd been asking far too many.

"Great. So Cassidy, I just want you to go back to your parents, right? Okay? And do not tell them I had a knife."

"Why not? Because you'll look like a... a... a cycle path?"

Patrick couldn't hold back a snort.

"Yeah, Cassidy. Yeah."

"Fine. But can I see the butterflies?"

"No. They're dead."

"Good."

She stood there for a few seconds more. Patrick willed her out, hoping to the god he didn't believe in that Pete would stay quiet just long enough for the girl to leave. He didn't want to have another warrant out for his arrest. Sure, they usually blew over after about a couple of years, but New Jersey was important. To him, to most of the hunting community, it was an important place. 

A hand reached out from under the bed. Patrick's eyes widened. Now he hoped that she didn't turn around. He hopped onto the bed and tried to kick the covers over it, but they weren't long enough. She turned to face him, and quickly, before she could say anything, he kicked the hand right back under the bed. Not today.

"What's under the bed?" the girl asked, quietly, moving closer and closer with every second. Patrick panicked.

"Crocodile." he snapped. He would've laughed at the irony, but he was worrying too much.

"I don't believe you." she said. Patrick couldn't believe her. So he killed butterflies with a magic knife and he couldn't have a crocodile under the bed. What's the difference?

"There's a crocodile."

"Then let me see it."

"No."

"Why?"

"He'll eat you."

"No he won't."

"He will."

"No he won't. He's not there."

"He is, he just-"

The 'crocodile' made a strained whining noise. Patrick sighed and lay back. The girl, being that blindly inquisitive type that she was, stepped right up to the side of the bed.

She felt a hand close around her ankle. She was knocked out cold when she hit the ground. 

She was too close to be stopped, and Patrick was too far back on the bed to stop the inevitable happening. He sat there, on top of the bed, staring at the ceiling. He tried to ignore everything else, the sounds from under the bed. It was difficult. He just watched the patterns on the ceiling. The noises continued, behind his back. Still, he traced the almost invisible flaws, the patches, the paintwork, until his eyelids started to droop. Soon, he was drifting off, and shortly after that, he'd fallen right into a deep and unwelcome sleep.


	15. A Discovery of Other

_Patrick watched the patterns on the ceiling, and tried to ignore the sounds coming from under the bed. It was difficult, though. This had been happening a lot recently. Noises under the bed, monsters under the bed. Kept him up too late. He couldn't get up in the morning. His mother said he'd end up like his dad. Practically nocturnal. Paranoid. Almost crazy._

_It wasn't late now. It was morning. Four in the morning. He'd gone to sleep around twelve. Woken up at two. He couldn't get back to sleep. It had taken him long enough last night. He had been excited for school, too much to get any sleep at all. But the dread that is so heightened at night had filled his stomach to bursting and now all he felt was a tad queasy._

_He sat up in bed. Nothing would be open for four hours. There was nothing to do, not yet. His books were on the other side of the room. There was a single comic hanging off the end of the bed. He could get up. But there was something under the bed. He didn't want to get caught._

_He reasoned with himself. It couldn't be a monster. It was a cat. A dog. A bird. A mouse. Something. Something ordinary. Patrick couldn't shake that primal fear though. His bed was safe. Now, something was making it feel unsafe. He did not like this at all._

_The room's colours melted from midnight greyscale to morning sunrise, and the curtains that he'd forgot to pull let the light cresting over the garden wall rip all the darkness from the room. Yet Patrick knew there was more darkness. Under the bed._

_His mother opened the door. He couldn't hear what she said. But she said something. He nodded._

_"Yes mom. I'm going."_

_"He's waiting."_

_"I understand."_

_She closed the door, stopping the plughole letting the rest of the universe into his bedroom. The wound of wrongfulness festered under his bed. Something dripped. Something ripped. And curiosity got the better of him, as he slowly dragged himself down to see what it was._

A snap snapped him from sleep like a the telltale twig cracking underfoot that alerts the guard to the presence of the thief. He blinked in the artificial light. A shadow cast itself across the wall.

"Pete?" he asked, groggily.

"Here." Pete answered, in a manner faintly reminiscent of a child answering the beginning of class roll call. Patrick sat up. He was faintly aware that this was not the room that he'd gone to sleep in, but only faintly. He shook his head, wondering why his vision was blurry.

Pete sat on the bed opposite. Two beds. Old wallpaper, tasteful in its 70's day, but now outdated and faded. The window was dirty. Patrick looked out of it. A city. He looked around in panic. No way. This couldn't be happening again. Not again.

"Pete, what's going on? Where are we?" he asked. He did not like this feeling of disorientation.

"New York. You wouldn't wake up so I knew that we had to go somewhere else. I took your car an-"

"YOU DID WHAT?!" Patrick yelled, waking up a bit. Pete nodded, and repeated, like he was trying to explain something to a small child.

"I said I took your car an-"

"You know you're not allowed to do that." Patrick interrupted, all the anger slowly dissipating. He didn't have the energy for yet another argument with Pete, who was actually cowering on the bed, waiting for the storm that he thought would surely come.

"What else was I meant to do?" he asked, quietly.

"Maybe not drive my car? I was in New Jersey for a reason. You just messed everything up." Patrick said, calmly as he could manage.

"But y-"

"But nothing, Pete. You can't just ship me around the place."

"But that's what you do."

There wasn't really any answer to that that wouldn't betray yet another character flaw of Patrick's, but he didn't think about that, and so replied with:

"Yeah, well, I can do that, because I'm the one who's in control here."

Pete nodded, as if he understood. Patrick took that. He shook his head. He sat up on the bed. New York. He could work with that. He knew some people, who knew people. Old friends. He shoved the covers off his legs and stood up. Picking his bag off the floor, and pulling a maroon cardigan from it, he looked up.

"I'm going out. You can come with me or stay here, but we're going to be doing a lot of walking."

An almost instant reply.

"I think I'll stay here, thanks."

Patrick smiled to himself.

"What?" Pete asked, defensively.

"What what? I didn't do anything." Patrick answered, picking up his old, brown bag from under his bed, still smiling.

"Yes you did. What're you smiling for?"

"Oh wow, so I'm not allowed to smile now? What's up, my happiness forbidden?"

"No but like... oh nevermind."

Patrick looked at him.

"Well. If you need me, I'll be on Broadway."

"You wh-"

The door opened, and closed, and the sentence was left unfinished, as Patrick twirled out the door.

On his own, at last, Pete sighed. He picked up his phone, the battery of which had long since run out. Useless. Still. He had it if he needed it. If Patrick was too long on this little errand. Pete looked out the window, to see Patrick come out, onto the street, and melt into the crowd, fifteen floors below. He shook his head. Pete was beginning to think they'd never get to Chicago.


	16. The King of Swingers

Patrick pushed the door open,with a creak. Music was coming from within. Someone shouting. A male voice. 

"From the top! Always from the top! Because that's where we're trying to get you to! You cannot go on if you continue like this..."

Patrick ignored the rest of the rant, and walked down a service corridor, past the dressing rooms. He poked his head into one. It was empty. Walking up to the next one, though, he found the confirmation that this was the place that he would find who he was looking for. As if that was ever in any doubt. An earth-shattering note thundered down from the stage. A C7. Patrick smiled to himself. This was definitely the place. 

He followed the sounds of the argument that came next. 

"It was fine!"

"You were sharp! From the top, please."

"No way! This is bullshit! It was fine!"

"From the top." 

"I would, but I don't fucking need to, it was fine!"

"Language"

"Oh for fuck's sake, like you give a shit about that."

"I'm warning you..."

"Warning me about what? Some non-existent voice crack? This is fucking ridiculous."

"Well, if it's so ridiculous then stop wasting my time."

"Fine! I don't give a shit! It's not like I even need vocal coaching!"

Patrick stopped backstage, and watched as the singer in question turned on his heel and stormed toward the opposite wing. Patrick turned around, too, and waited beside the door to the corridor connecting the left and right wings. It nearly hit him in the face when it swung open with blinding force. The person who walked through it, all the while cursing to himself under his breath, missed Patrick completely, and stormed up the stairs. Patrick followed him up to the dressing room, and walked in behind him. Still, even after the door was closed, the strop continued. Patrick sighed. 

"Brendon..."

He finally looked around, his hair a mess, tears threatening to spill from his almond eyes down his cheeks. 

"When the fuck did you get here?" he asked, taking his white converse off and kicking them under his chair. He was still very annoyed. Patrick dragged a chair over and sat down.

"A few minutes ago."

"So you heard that son of a bitch? Oh my god, was I sharp? Have I ever been sharp?"

"Yes, yes and yes, many, many times."

"Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhh"

"Just telling the truth."

"I'd really rather you lied to me."

"No can do. You were sharp, you're sharp quite often."

Brendon groaned.

"Piss off, I'm Mark Zuckerberg."

Patrick laughed at the sheer absurdity of the statement. Brendon smiled. 

"Seriously though, it's not like you could do any better." he said. Patrick nodded.

"You just keep telling yourself that."

Brendon rolled his eyes, and pulled on a pair of carmine red boots with black lace frills around the shoelaces. The golden aglets were little symbols, one a heart, one a cherry, one a pair of lips, and one a mirror. Typical. 

He stood up. The boots were high-heeled, with a black block heel that rose him up an extra three inches to six foot. They were tight, leather, and stopped about a quarter of the way up his thigh. There was a slight gap where his skin was shown. A brown freckle, a colour somewhere between his eyes' hue and his hair's, sat just below the hem of the black sparkly hotpants he had on. 

Brendon threw his blue tee off, and onto the bench. Patrick stepped back a bit as he sprayed on an extra coat of deodorant. Spray tended to make his asthma act up. Brendon picked up a smart white shirt, so well ironed that the edges seemed to have an outline, and put it on. He closed the buttons incredibly quickly, and pulled a red tie on around the collar, tightened to his tonsils. A black suit jacket, with silver detailing and a rose on the breast pocket.

"Debonair." Patrick said. Brendon flipped his hair and set about combing it into the usual bouffant in front of his mirror. 

"You know it." he grinned, flicking a few extra strands out of his eyes. When he was finished, he turned around in his swivel chair, to face Patrick, who was examining some of the posters on the walls.

"So. What are you here for then? I know you didn't just come to see me perform. Anyone else would but..." 

"I'm not anyone else." Patrick said, sitting beside Brendon's pile of assorted clothes. Brendon nodded.

"Exactly."

"I came to ask a question."

"Ask ahead." Brendon said, returning to combing his quiff at the red 50's style mirror to scoop up the stray hairs that had escaped from his style. Patrick checked his nails.

"Do you know where Will's is gone to?"

"The suicide store? As in 'Dying to Die' Will's?"

"The very one."

"Patrick, suicide is not the answer. Knee implants maybe." 

Patrick tutted. 

"Very funny. All your height's in your forehead anyway, Breadbin. And your kinky boots."

"And the hair. Don't forget the hair"

"And the hair. So. The store."

"Oh yeah. So, like, last time I was there, it was on 4th Avenue, and it was actually really hilarious because I walked in there, and Will and his boyfriend were just there, making out, and I was like 'Well don't let me stop you,' and they didn't even flinch so I j-"

"Brendon."

"What?"

"Where is it now?"

"Oh, now? I don't fucking know. The store front is facing the west side of Central Park, that's all I can tell you." 

"Wow. Very helpful."

"Sorry."

"It's fine. Thanks anyway."

"No problem. Just promise me I won't hear about your death from Will next time I go over?"

"It's not for me. It's for a friend."

"Fair enough. Hey, it's 7 now, it might be an idea to get there before nine?"

"Oh, yeah. Thanks Bren."

"No trouble." 

Patrick stood up, and smiled as he closed yet another door behind him.


	17. Noodle and a Diary

Pete sat on the bed. Boredom had claimed him, and he was now playing with a yo-yo while waiting for the lunch he didn't need that he'd ordered. He'd pretended that Patrick was his son, booked a kid's and an adult's sharing room, and was fully prepared to take complete advantage of the fact that he could get 3 free meals a day. Even if he didn't need it. He smiled at his own cleverness.

It had been 20 minutes since Patrick had left, but it felt more like 2 hours, waiting. Pete looked at himself in the mirror. He hadn't straightened, nor dyed his hair in at least 2 months. He wasn't sure how long he'd been away from home, but it was a long time. It was a suspiciously long time. Pete didn't know too much about distances but he was fairly sure that it didn't take 2 months to get from New Orleans to Chicago. Even less to get from New Orleans to New York. He knew Patrick was leading him along. He just couldn't figure out what for.

There was a knock on the door, and he lept up, barefoot, and opened it. A skinny woman with punky black hair smiled up at him. It wasn't exactly a smile. More of a 'whatever you're planning, I'd like to see you try' smirk.

"Here's your lunch, sir." She said, handing him a plate of chips and a taco. He smiled.

"Thank you!" He grinned brightly. She nodded. She looked quite edgy. Edgy Japanese girl. Pretty cool. Her eyeliner was nice, too. Blue and black. Under her hotel-issue black jacket, she had a black and pink striped top, only the sleeves of which were visible. She was cute.

"Hey could I get y-" he began, but she'd already flung a tiny piece of paper into his hand.

"Name's Noodle. I'll see you sometime..." She said.

"Y-yeah." He said, feeling not unlike a young Scott Pilgrim on his first meeting with Ramona Flowers, as Noodle disappeared into the lift with her cute little half smile still lingering on her lips.

He smiled to himself, closing the door, and putting his food down on the table. Whirlwind girlfriend maybe? Noodle wasn't her real name, obviously. But he kind of had a thing for cute Japanese girls. He unfolded the piece of paper. On it was written a phone number. He'd use it later. When he actually had a phone. 

He hopped up on Patrick's bed, and was startled by something uncomfortable under the blanket. He hopped up again, confused. He picked up a corner of the blanket, and threw it over. He scanned the bed  
Blanket, blanket, sheets, more blanket, notebook, sheets... Oh wait. Notebook.

He picked it up. It was an expensive leather bound tome. With a lock. He sighed and stepped back a bit. And realised he'd stepped on something metal. He slowly raised his foot and took the tiny key off his foot. He look at the lock on the notebook. Would it fit?

It did. He smiled, again. He was smart. He opened up the book as the lock clicked, and pages, pictures, and a severely coffee-stained map sprang out onto his lap. It was a diary. Pete bit his lip. He wasn't sure if he wanted to read it. He was curious, sure, but on the other hand it felt kind of creepy and voyeuristic, and he didn't know when Patrick would be home.

So maybe just one page.

He flicked through it, trying to find a passage that might interest him. Patrick's handwriting was, thankfully, quite neat, and as he scanned through, Pete could read little passages and snippets. The first page was dated for ten years ago. 

22nd April 1998  
Been waiting to be fourteen for forever, and now that it's here it's a bit anticlimactic. I've been listening to the albums my dad bought me (Solitude Standing by Suzanne Vega, Diamond Dogs by David Bowie) and so far, they're very good. I have Biology homework to do. V. boring, but it must be done by tomorrow or I will have detention and I absolutely CANNOT be late, as Tyler is coming over, and if mom talks to him for too long, she will know what's been going on and probably disown me, which I wouldn't mind, only, again, Tyler. 

Tyler huh? Sounded to Pete like somebody had a crush. Time to read on a bit. 

31st May 2002  
Exams today. Feeling sick so I took 2 minutes out of Latin to go to the bathroom and throw my guts up and who's outside when I get back but Frank fucking Iero.   
F: Hey.  
Me: Go away  
F: How'd you do.  
Me: go away.  
F: Well, somebody's snapp-  
He didn't get to finish coz I jinxed him and got my test cancelled which is unfair. So I'll get a CANCELLED mark on my Latin but Charms was easy and my god was Arithmetic the easiest thing in the world. Had some formulas written on the bottom of the table from the vision with the tea, and they were right, which means that I definitely have some leftover magic. Dad won't be happy, but hey, not my problem anymore. Eighteen now. I can fend for myself.

There was nothing else until around 4 months ago.

1st June 2008  
Just found this old thing. Missed writing. It's good to talk I guess. Been travelling around, trying to find someone to come with me to fix my mistakes. Tyler hates me. Dad hates me. Everyone hates me. I hate me. But was it ever any different?? Don't want to be in this state forever, trying to fix it up, I will soon, maybe I won't hate myself quite as much, but even if I go back and fix it, probably won't matter, since it still happened and Karma doesn't forget too easy. I'm a complete fucking idiot. 

And below it, in many different fonts.

I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself I hate myself....

Over and over again.

Pete put down the diary. He hadn't expected that. Patrick didn't seem like that kind of person. He was faking being a horrible person... why exactly? Pete couldn't think. Maybe to scare vampires. That seemed to be what he did most things for.

He looked out the window with his now cold taco. It was raining. It was dark. It was a night of nostalgia. And that was really all that set off the tears that had been brewing. 

He lay on his bed that night. And he cried himself to sleep.


	18. The Sleep Deprived Musing of a Late Princess Pete

Patrick opened the door with his foot, holding a piece of dark chocolate between his teeth, and carrying a large pallet of juiceboxes in his arms. 

"Hey Pete! We have to go, pretty quick so get your stuff and get in the car."

Pete sat up.

"What did you do this time?"

"Nothing. But it's getting late, and I need to get to Hartford ASAP."

"Where's Hartford?" 

"Connecticut. Next state over. Let's go." 

Ten minutes later, they had returned to the car. Pete was playing with his dead phone. Patrick was being a careful driver. Pete put down the phone and mused:

"I'm hungry. Is there anything I can eat?"

"Pete give me two minutes."

"Can vampires yawn? Is that a thing?"

"Pete, I'm trying not to die here."

A minute's silence and then:

"Do you speak latin?"

Patrick gritted his teeth.

"Testor Deum sic loquar Latine clausus non vos peius carnificare."

Pete looked taken aback. It then changed to suspicion. 

"Are you just making up words?"

"Nil ego sum."

"Stop talking funny languages!"

Finally out on the freeway, Patrick looked over at him.

"Stop speaking funny languages. And you asked me if I could speak Latin so I did."

"What did you say?" 

"Learn it yourself."

Pete folded his arms and rested his head against the window. He cried a slight bit more, silently. Patrick was oblivious, of course. He wouldn't care even if he did notice.

"I'm hungry." Pete grumbled.

"Get a juicebox." Patrick replied, staring straight ahead.

"I mean I'm hungry."

"Again. Get a juicebox. I got them for a reason."

"How many did you get?"

"Thirty. Now get one before you try to eat me and I'm forced to leave you at the side of the road."

Pete reached into the back and pulled one out of the cellophane wrap. He punctured the tiny circle of plastic among the cardboard with the straw and brought it up to his lips. 

Patrick sighed very heavily, purposefully blocking out the sound of Pete's moan. He looked over in annoyance.

"It's only blood, Pete."

"I know... but it tastes so good."

"Chocolate tastes good too, but I don't make intensely sexual noises while eating it."

"You do!" 

"I don't. "

"You do! You were eating chocolate yesterday and you were all like mhmm oohhh mmm oh gimme that good stuff mhm mhm oh yeaaaa." Pete said, miming Patrick eating his chocolate bar with a great amount of twisting and lip biting. It was a pretty accurate impression. Patrick glared.

"I do not sound like that."

"You do."

"I don't. "

"You so do." Pete said, sipping sassily on the straw of his juicebox. Patrick rolled his eyes. 

"Whatever you say, Peter."

"Don't call me Peter."

"I'll call you whatever I want."

"Not Peter."

"Peter."

"Stahp."

"Fine."

"Thanks."

Patrick glanced over slyly.

"What about... Princess?"

"What?"

"That's your name now."

"No! My name's Pete!"

"Princess Pete then."

"Like Mario."

"Like Mario."

Pete nodded, happily, still suckling on his juicebox like a hungry kid, of the goatlike variety. He flicked the radio on.

Because I'm in so deep...  
You know I'm such a fool for you,   
You've got me wrapped around your finger,  
Do you have to let it linger,  
Do you have to,  
Do you have to,  
Do you have to let it linger?

Pete sang along, even though he didn't know the words. Patrick smiled.

"Nice song."

"The Cranberries." Pete yawned.

"Tired?"

"Not really." He said, a yawn caught from his own reflection in the window betraying his lie. Patrick smiled. 

"We'll be stopping in a few hours... but if you want to catch up on some sleep you can go ahead."

"Yes please." 

"Do what you want."

It was almost 3 hours later when Pete spoke up again. They were nearing the state line. 

"Hey Patrick." He said groggily. Patrick looked around, a square of dark chocolate crunching between his incisors. He flinched, but the taste of the bittersweet concoction made him forget the small pain almost instantly. Pete had woken up and was clutching his hoodie to his chest, attempting to open his eyes with a precious smile that wouldn't have looked out of place if Pete was wearing a flowercrown.

"What's up?" Patrick asked.

"Are you a bat?" Pete countered, his eyes still lightly shut. Patrick shook his head confusedly, a smile rolling on the corners of his mouth like the ends of a parchment scroll.

"No. I'm not." He answered, but regardless, Pete barrelled on speaking without waiting for Patrick to finish.

"Because I love you." 

Patrick sighed and took another bite of the chocolate. 

"No you don't." 

Pete yawned.

"Yeah."

"Yeah you don't or yeah you do?"

"Yeah... the last one." 

Patrick swallowed the chocolate.

"You're still sleep deprived, Princess." He said, driving on into the night.


	19. Vampire Playground

_We bought your shit and we blew it to smithereens._

Patrick wrote in his journal. He was taking down whatever came into his head. Right now it was all angry.There was something he needed that he couldn't find.

Pete played with the yo-yo. He was doing whatever he felt like doing which wasn't much.

"Can I go to the-"

"No"

"But it's just outside the-"

"No"

"It's right there!"

Patrick rolled his eyes.

"Fine." He said, looking up from his laptop.

Pete smiled. He looked out the window. Patrick was too distracted to notice much. Pete opened the window up, with a grating noise that annoyed him a bit, but not enough to make him stop.

"What're you d-"

Pete didn't hear the rest of Patrick's question. He'd fired himself out the window of the 4th floor, and was whirling towards the ground at speed. He screwed his eyes shut. He squeezed his hands into fists, and brought his knees into his chest, holding them there as tightly as he could. He trusted in newfound things.

Close to the ground, a tulip opened in reverse around him. A swoosh, and he stopped in midair, and fell like a feather to the ground. He lay there, trying to ignore the disconcerting feeling of being compacted down into a very small amount of space. Skin stretched, and bones broke, but soon enough, he opened his eyes, staring at the sky, to find the bush beside him had grown.

He tried to stand up. His legs were weak, but by waving his arms about a bit, he got off the ground. He squeaked a little bit, happily. He knew birds had the right idea. It was only when he looked down and realized that he was actually off the ground that he panicked.

He waved his legs around, and his arms too, but it didn't help. In fact, it actually made it worse. He was getting further and further away from the ground and he didn't know how to stop.

He screamed, but it came out as a sort of screech. It echoed off the walls of the hotel, and off in the other direction, coming back in the shape of a tree. He turned his head to see that he was right. It was a tree. He kept flapping his arms.

Patrick looked out the window.

"Pete?!" He yelled. Pete looked over at him, waving his arms until he was level with the window, and chirruped back:

"Yeah, I'm here, not notice this yet?! I think I can fly!"

Patrick looked around confusedly. The dark had fallen, and Pete could barely see him. It was strange. He was so used to being able to see in the dark that he'd forgotten what life was like without it. He guessed that he'd traded that for being able to fly.

Pete flew a little closer and squeaked at him. He looked a lot bigger than he had before. That was odd too. It almost seemed as if at this stage he could hold Pete in one hand.

"Yoo hoo! Over here!" Pete said. He was almost exactly in front of Patrick's face. Maybe he didn't have his glasses on, and that's why he couldn't see him. Pete flew right at him, then over his shoulder into the room.

"What the-" Patrick said, turning around quickly to see a tiny black bat on the bed, waving its matchsticklegs in the air, and flapping its paper thin wings wildly.

"Oh for God's sake." He said, picking it up in his hand. He was a little too rough, and it let out a shrill trilling noise, as its wing ripped and it fell to the floor.

"Sorry." He said, quickly, and picked it up again. "I guess I can't put you out now. You're a little cutie, aren't you?" He said, stroking the thatch of black, spiky hair atop its head. It nodded. Patrick laughed.

It tried to stand up, but fell back down on the bed. Patrick scooped it up and held it close to his chest. Little tiny fangs poked out of its mouth, and its squashed-up nose was all sniffly. He liked bats. He liked most animals, but he found bats especially cute.

He placed it down on the bed, and looked back out the window at the dark.

"Pete come back here, I'm not gonna chase you. You'll only get so far... I swear to god when I find you, I'll skin you alive!" He yelled, harshly out the window. There was a crackling noise behind him, and a soft groan. He turned around.

"Sorry." Pete said, sheepishly. Patrick looked incredibly confused, until he connected the dots in his brain. It took about five seconds for him to realise what had happened. Pete cradled the cut on his arm. It was leaking black all over the bed. Patrick cursed, and ran to get some tissues.

Pete sat on the bed, while Patrick tended to the wound.

"Did you ever think of being a vet?" Pete asked. Patrick didn't look up. He ignored him. "Patrick?"

"I never got to be anything else. I never really dreamed of doing anything else." Patrick mused, quietly, clearing up the black, and throwing away a tissue. Patrick had said it out loud, but Pete wasn't sure he should've been listening. He answered anyway.

"So you always wanted to go around staying in bad hotels and cleaning up people's messes? Killing things?"

Patrick had to think about it.

"Well, no. I just kinda got... pushed into it." He looked down at his hands. "I used to have a list of things I wanted to do."

"What were they?"

Patrick wiped the blood off of his hands with an already dirtied tissue. A few pieces of the paper stuck to his palms, and he pulled them off with none of the agression he'd always had before. He seemed confused. A bit lost.

"I used to always want to travel the world. To have some friends. Get married, maybe. Always said if I ever had a son, I'd name him Declan." He brushed his hair to the side. "I used to want to be a musician. But I can't sing. And besides. Who wants to listen to some ginger fat boy from Chicago sing about his first-world problems? It's better to get something done in life."

"You'd be doing something in life then."

"Oh yeah?" Patrick said, disbelievingly, sifting through a pile of sheets and printouts.

"You'd be making people happy. Just like sometimes, you make me happy."

Patrick looked around at him, and for the first time, a proper smile spread across his face. A nice smile. He was happy. And that made Pete happy.

"Thanks, Pete." Patrick said.

Pete nodded, and fell back on the bed. He was all achy everywhere. He felt like someone had rolled him into a ball and thrown him out a window.

"Have you seen my yo-yo anywhere?" He asked Patrick. Patrick looked around the table.

"No, I don't think so."

"Awh. I guess I'll just have to be bored then."

Patrick stopped rooting, and sat up in his chair, which he turned around in to face Pete.

"You know what, I'm bored too. I was gonna leave it til tomorrow but-" he dropped the book he was holding on the desk. "Let's go. Grab your jacket."

"Where are we going?" Pete asked, sitting up.

"We're going to Hyland."

"What's that?"

"It's a haunted house. And it is high time we un-haunted it."


	20. House of Memories

Pete quivered in the torchlight as the door creaked open. Patrick walked in ahead of him, gently dancing over the threshold, and into the house. It was dark, but the torch illuminated a tiny patch of the ground in front. It only succeeded in giving the house a more eerie vibe. Pete could see in the dark, but only in red outlines, and that wasn't the most comforting thing, especially in a haunted house.

"Patrick? You know what's cool? Staying outside the haunted establishment," Pete whispered over the eerie dripping sounds. 

"Well I was so cool in high school that I did Misfits covers so shut your ass." 

Pete seemed to forget his definitely not fear and where he was. "Oh my bats, I was in a band."

"Did you just say.. 'oh my bats'..?" Patrick said, glaring.

Pete huffed. "Can we just un-spook this place?" He grumbled, crossing his arms and moving unsubtly closer to the shorter man. 

Patrick sighed and turned forward again. He slowly moved through the damp darkness, further into the house. A floor board creaked up the once elegant staircase. Pete clung to Patrick's arm, which he would totally deny later. 

"Is this gonna be like monster house..?" Pete asked softly. He squinted through the darkness to try and make sense of some lines that were assembled in an odd shape. 

Patrick didn't respond. "Wanna let go, Princess?" He asked softly, shining the torch into a larger room, dimly lit by a hole in the wall. 

"Not particularly." Pete mumbled. He moved impossibly closer to Patrick. "How do you do this shit..?" He mumbled. 

"Watch your eyes." Patrick warned and flicked a switch. Pete hissed and blinked a couple of times. Patrick walked into the room with an air of unknowing confidence. 

The bulb shone dimly, giving off only enough light to see into the room. The corners were left pitch black and unknown. The fancy wallpaper was hanging off the walls in an unpleasant manner. Old, moth eaten furniture was placed oddly in the room, as though they had been placed with no care. 

An over-exaggerated fireplace was proudly placed in the middle of the far wall. Old, dust covered picture frames littered the mantel piece. Above it, an old, grimy mirror hung on the wall, bordered with designs that could easily be another language. 

"If I turned into a bat do you think I could chill here?" 

"Pete? Shush." 

Pete pouted and decided to explore the room further. Patrick walked over to the almost green mirror. 

A voice emanated from behind the mould.

"I KNEW YOU WERE IGNORING ME!"

Pete jumped about three feet into the air, and landed on the cushy armchair behind him. He shivered.

"W-who said that?" 

Patrick shook his head. 

"Yes, Ryan, I have. Because you keep annoying me."

"How am I annoying?"

Pete piped up.

"Why is the mirror talking?" 

Patrick sighed, and crossed to the mirror, wiping some of the mould clean. A brown eye glared accusingly out from the rat-grey surface.

"I'm trying to get all the gossip I missed. How long was it? Atlanta? It was Atlanta, wasn't it?"

"What's he talking about, Patrick?"

Patrick sat down on the couch. A great cloud of dust billowed around him.

"Ryan is a ghost, Pete. Just ignore him." He said, picking an old book off the shelf, and putting it back with a definite "No." He continued in this vein for quite some time.

"I can hear you!" Ryan protested.

"You're meant to." Patrick said, casually flicking through another book, and putting it into his bag.

"Awh cmon. Is it about the vampire kink? Because that was just a joke, ya know?

"Ryan." Patrick said, warningly. 

"Vampire kink? You have a vampire kink?" Pete asked.

"No. I do not.. Here it is." Patrick said, taking an ornate bronze key out of one of the books. 

"What's that?" Pete asked. 

"It's the key that M-"

Patrick turned on his heel and flung his double-edged knife right at the mirror. It rippled upon impact, then broke apart, leaving Ryan's half-pronounced "Ike" hanging in midair with no mouth.

"Seven years bad luck." Pete said, mechanically. Patrick slotted the key into the bookcase, and pulled it open. Spiders scuttled from within, and the dead carcasses or previous arachnid generations lay littered across the floor of the corridor ahead.

"Secret passageway! Cool!" Pete whispered.

Pete walked along the walls, straying far from the dark corners. He wiped away at a picture frame, immediately regretting it and coughing up dust. He swatted the air in front of him. Pete looked at the pictures, quickly getting bored. A boring family taking a boring portrait. A bored looking tall boy with cold eyes and pointed features stood in the centre. He was taller than both his parents. Pete looked away. The boy gave him the creeps.

He glanced around again, now noticing some boarded up windows. They were framed with murky brown curtains that some creature had been chewing away at. 

Pete looked passed the old picture frames and noticed some odd objects. "Did a witch live here..?" He asked no one in particular.

He examined a pristine white horn, striped with red, wiping at the golden plaque underneath it. He gasped rather loudly. "Unicorns?! Patrick! Unicorns!" 

"Yeah, the people who used to live here were unicorn breeders." He said, with throwaway disgust.

Pete felt a chill go though his entire body and flinched. He heard footsteps upstairs and other loud sounds from the house. It was as though the place had expanded and contracted just to scare him. 

And scare him it did. He let out a yelp and jumped back, accidentally pulling the horn off its rotted wooden plank. He tumbled backwards and dropped the horn. 

He sat on the floor and took a minute to recompose himself and tell himself that no matter what he did; he would always be mommy's strong boy. 

He slowly stood up and felt an odd sensation go through his body starting at the leg, not even a good one. It buzzed.

"Umm.... Patrick? I think I got magic-stabbed."


	21. That’s Kinda Gay

Pete looked down at the sharp object stuck into his thigh. He stared for a moment, vision clouded with colour. He yanked the object out of his skin and stumbled back. 

He looked around at the place he once found terrifying, though now it looked like a pretty meadow. Pete let out a girlish giggle and skipped around. 

He put his arms out and spun around until he hit the wall. He let out a soft 'oof' and shook his head. His hand met a soft curtain which he stared at for a good ten minutes. 

It had been a murky brown and covered in holes the last time he had looked but now it was multicoloured, resembling a pride flag. Pete let out a soft gasp. 

"I'm kinda gay too," he whispered to the curtain like it was a friend that had just come out to him. He flung himself at the curtain, hugging it tightly for a few minutes. 

He looked over at Patrick with a dazed, lovesick look. 

"Do you think I have a chance, Mr. Curtin? I think he likes girls.." 

He glanced from Patrick to the curtain and back to Patrick. 

"I am a man with a plan." He mumbled. He slowly draped the now pink, to him, curtain around him like a skirt and spun again. 

"Pattycakes!" He cooed and stumbled through the colours to a very oblivious Patrick. Pete flung one arm around Patrick's neck, the other holding his make-shift skirt up. He smacked a sloppy kiss onto Patrick's cheek before speaking. 

"Sit down," he slurred out, giggling like a school girl with a crush. He pushed Patrick onto the ratty sofa and straddled him. He leaned in to kiss him but was stopped by a hand on his chest. 

"Pete, what the fuhk is wrong with you?" 

Patrick tried to push the 2007 reject off of him. Pete stubbornly didn't budge. 

"I just wanna please my boyfriend." Pete gave him a pout and puppy dog eyes. Patrick growled at his choice of words. 

"I'm not your boyfriend. Fuhking desperate.." Patrick muttered the last part under his breath. 

Pete moved impossibly closer to Patrick and nuzzled into his neck. Patrick groaned softly at the mouth full of hair he was receiving. 

"Fuhk off, Pete!" He groaned. 

Patrick quickly pushed the older boy away when he felt his neck become damp. He quickly moved to wipe the spit off before looking at Pete and realising it was tears. 

"Why don't you love me?!" Pete wailed, his emotions having no censor in that moment. 

Patrick sat stock still in front of him, just staring. Pete would usually back down. Patrick noticed the unicorn horn on the floor, black dripping off the end of the candy-cane color. His eyes comically widened. 

"Oh fuhk, you're high.." 

"I am not! It's called being in love!" Pete jumped off his lap and stomped his foot like a toddler.

"Youuuuuuuu probably don't even know what that is!" Pete accused, and poked Patrick's chest roughly, glaring at him venomously. His face quickly fell and he flung himself at Patrick again. "But I wish you did! Because then we could be in love!" He sobbed into Patrick's shirt. 

"Jesus fuhking Christ.." Patrick mumbled and pat Petes back awkwardly. 

"You're gonna hate yourself for acting like this."

"No I won't because it's true!"

"Yeah right. Can I do what I came here to do now?" 

"Did you come here to love me?" 

The question was answered with an exasperated sigh. 

"Then no." He sniffled and wiped his eyes, lined by an unhealthy ring of black.

He slowly raised his head from his safe burrow of Patrick's shirt. 

"I don't feel well.." he mumbled like a little kid trying to get out of school. 

"What? Have you never been high before?" Patrick let out a small chuckle despite himself. 

"I-I have-" Pete seemed to suddenly choke on air. He took deep breaths though none of them fully entered him. He turned away from Patrick and coughed up a single purple petal. 

The one petal was followed by many more multicoloured flowers. Pete let sobs rack his body and he choked up the bloody flowers. 

Patrick stared in shock, knowing there was nothing he could do. There was no way Pete had been serious about loving him. 

"What's going on?!" Pete screamed, the words followed by an orange flower. 

Patrick debate whether to lie or remain silent. He decided on the latter. 

Pete took deep breaths and stared at the mess he had made. 

"What is that?! How is that possible?! Am I a plant..?" He whispered the last question to Patrick dramatically. 

Patrick couldn't help doubling over and laughing at Pete in that moment. He had managed to accidentally get high, cross dress and reveal he had Hanahaki disease in less than an hour. 

Patrick froze at his own thoughts. Pete had Hanahaki Disease. Pete was in love with him. A one-sided love.

Pete looked up at him, sad and defeated. "Why're you laughing? Are you really that sick?" 

Patrick quickly shook his head "no! No just.. you have no clue what just happened?"

Pete miserably looked at the bloody bouquets in front of him and shook his head. He wiped his black blood from around his mouth with the back of his sleeve. "Can't you look it up in one of your spooky books?"

Patrick choose to lie this time. "I've never read anything like this, trust me, I'd remember."

"So I'm original... do you love me now?"

"No."

"How about now?"

"No."

"Now?" 

"No." Patrick said, continuing on, feeling the walls with one hand, holding his torch in the other. He found a button on the wall, which turned bright red as he pressed it. Pete chuckled.

"You pressed the red button!" He cheered, as though Patrick had just beaten a level in a ridiculously easy videogame. 

"Yeah. I did." Patrick said, brushing away the cobwebs that looked like sparkly ribbons to Pete. Spiders made of jelly scuttled around his feet. 

Patrick looked at him.

"Do not touch anything. Do not say anything. You might die if you do." 

They walked in slowly, Pete ever curious, looking at everything with an air of wonder. Patrick walked into the darkness. 

"Stay here." He commanded, disappearing down another corridor. Pete looked around, obeying for half a second, before spluttering up a rainbow of petals. He missed Patrick so... he followed into the dark.


	22. Spiderman Skellington

Pete hugged himself as he followed Patrick down the dark, narrow hall. The further he walked the less picture frames lined the walls. Everything was covered in a thick lair of dust. He didn't want to touch anything, they may have been low but he did have standards. 

Pete spotted Patrick as he rounded a corner and went to call his name, terrified of being alone in this place. He pulled Patrick's orange jumper tighter around himself. He let out a small gasp and hid back behind the corner as quick as he could. 

Patrick stood facing a giant, or maybe just extremely tall man. He was a tangle of limbs. Half of his face was obscured by his swooping hair. Pete gasped. It was the creepy boy from the picture.

"Why exactly?" The man spoke. 

"Don't ask questions, Dallon."

Pete frowned and peeked out at them. You couldn't blame a guy for being curious. 

"You're so pious sometimes. Should I make it look like a suicide? Should I scatter his insides across the interstate highway? Should I let him choke on my-"

"I just need him dead. Okay? You couldn't just do one thing for me?"

Pete froze up. His felt his eyes widen and an almost inaudible whimper escape his lips. Patrick wanted someone dead. And Pete had an awful feeling that that someone was him. He continued to listen. Dallon clicked his tongue.

"Who is it, then?" He sighed, wearily.

Pete shivered as he heard Patrick whisper. He started backing up. He felt burning hot tears pool in his eyes. 

Pete knew he sounded pathetic but he was in love and love was pathetic. 

It was in that moment Pete realised how bad his love streak was. One bad break up, one he accidental murder and now one that wanted to intentionally get him killed.. again. 

He heard a sigh but couldn't quite place who it came from. 

"Why him?" 

"I told you; no questions." Patrick snapped back. 

"But G-"

Everything went a deadly silent. The dim light illuminating the room burned out and Pete was plunged into total darkness. 

Pete began to shake and sniffle. He looked around at the red lines for any sign of movement. This was it. This was his end. 

Then the light came back. Pete shrieked and jumped back, resulting with him falling on his ass. He quickly scrambled up again. 

"..Pete?" Patrick called cautiously.

"You brought somebody?" Dallon asked, now curious. 

"I brought him. Told him not to-"

"Did Mikey not tell you not to bring anyone?"

Mikey. Pete remembered that name. He remembered the man it belonged to, and all his little quirks. Mikey fucking Way. Why were they talking about Mikey?

"I couldn't see him in-"

"Because he forbid me from devouring you but..."

"You are not eating Pete."

Pete coughed a few sepia-coloured petals onto the floor, revealing his hiding place around the side of the wall.

"You see... you just can't say that and expect me to follow your rules."

"You're not eating Pete."

Dallon unfolded his lanky limbs, and stepped down from his makeshift throne into the the tastefully decorated room's centre. He towered over Patrick. 

"Well then the deal is off." He said, looking down at the short man.

"It can't be! Mikes sai-"

"Mikey can say what he likes, he never told me I couldn't complicate things. He told you not to..."

"Please! You have to!" Patrick yelled, trying to be commanding, but there was a note of desperation in his voice. Pete poked his head around the corner, and Dallon looked over at precisely the same moment. Oh shit. Pete had been rumbled now. A spout of purple petals erupted from between his teeth.

"Oh you poor thing with your Hanahaki disease... want me to end your miserable existence?" 

Pete had been about to stand up for Patrick, but now felt considerably less brave than he had when hiding behind the wall. 

"Umm... no..."

"Dallon. Don't." Patrick said. Dallon rolled his eyes.

"You're such a buzzkill, Ricky... you always were, I guess. And I guess... it's always been like me to have you snap my olive branch in half... and for me to have my fun anyway." 

There was a horrible crackling noise, and Pete watched on in awestruck horror as Dallon, before his eyes, simply changed. Extra limbs unfolded like flat pack furniture, black ran over his skin, and extra eyes opened up on his face. Within about thirty seconds, standing over him, was a six foot three inch tall spider.

Pete gulped, frozen in horror as the SpiderDallon opened its great jaws, and clasped them around his neck like a pair of huge, serrated scissors.

"Nice spider?" He asked hopefully, but felt the jaws of death begin to tighten, drawing blood from his neck and ready to-

A blazing heat rose against him, and the spider screeched as its legs were chopped to bits by a flaming longsword in the hands of a very, very pissed off Patrick Stump.

He put a pen cap against the tip, and the sword slowly retreated, until it was an ordinary blue ballpoint pen. The same ballpoint pen which constantly resided tucked behind Patrick's left ear.

"So that's why you tell me not to use your stationery." Pete said. A little bit of ash flew off the tip of his nose.

"Yep. Exactly. Let's go." Patrick said, walking past him.

"Hey where are w-" 

"Our work here... is done."


	23. Seasonal Depression

Pete sat at the desk, shifting awkwardly. He had discarded the filthy jumper the second they had exited the house, now leaving him in his skin tight khaki top. He scratched at the sharpied 'I AM A MONSTER'. He had wrote it on the shirt after he'd been bitten.

Pete stared at Patrick uncomfortably. Patrick was hunched over on the bed, crying into his hands. "Are you... okay..?" 

Patrick didn't speak. 

Pete puffed out his cheeks and let his eyes dance around the room as something to entertain him. He rubbed up and down his thighs, not knowing what to do with himself. 

Pete slowly got up and crept over to Patrick. He sank down onto the bed beside him. He snaked his arm around Patrick's shoulder, which Patrick shoved off. 

He gently blew his fringe out of his eyes and decided that he needed to straighten his hair. He got up and sidled out the door, knowing Patrick wasn't in the mood to entertain him and he didn't want to anger Patrick. He clicked the door shut behind him. He set off in search for a straightener. 

He wandered around the motel, being hit by nearly everyone that opened the door. He forgot it was nearly four am. To say the least, he came up empty handed and a little downhearted. He supposed he hadn't really thought it through, he never thought anything through. 

He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his skinny jeans to see what he had to work with. He looked at the years old receipt for green tea kitkats and whined. He wanted kitkats. Patrick probably didn't even like kitkats. 

Pete pulled out his dead phone and decided on a new mission: plug it in and text.. what had been her name? Noodle. That was it. She probably liked kitkats, Pete thought smugly. 

He stalked about the motel until he padded into the barely lit reception area. He stood at the counter for a while before realising no one was going to show up and cater for his needs. 

He walked behind the desk and let out a sound resembling a happy squeak. He lunged forward and stabbed the charger into his phone. 

"Pretty sure you don't work here."

Pete jumped. His head snapped up, his eyes meeting Noodles'. 

"Are you trying to kill me?" He panted, holding his heart. 

She let out a soft laugh "maybe I am." She winked.

Pete then made the decision he knew he would regret. He stood up and smiled. 

"Wanna get out of here?" 

"What about your boyfriend I saw you come in with?" 

"....he's not my boyfriend."

"Well then let's go." She said, smiling. Pete followed her out.

*

Two weeks. Two weeks of being in young, dumb love. A quick, fleeting crush, that kept fading and returning. Empty-headed nights that Pete couldn't remember, for all the drugs, the drink or just the sheer overwhelming emotion of it all.

Now Pete was alone. He didn't even get to charge his phone. He was outside, the sun only mere minutes away from rising. 

Pete needed to find Patrick. He couldn't be that far away, hopefully. Pete did the only thing left to do. He turned into a bat. 

He flew up, small pained squeaks admitting from him. He had forgotten about his injured wing. Now he was flying sideways. 

He looked around for sign of Patrick's car anywhere but was out of luck. He let out a desperate squeak. He felt himself falling and gave in to it. He felt the black, sticky blood oozing from his arm. 

He landed in a ditch in human form. He broke down into sobs. He just wanted his Patrick. 

He felt the rays of the sun hitting his face and accepted it. He lay there, remembering past summers when he could enjoy the daytime. He remembered him. Mikey. He remembered water fights and sneaking off. 

He felt himself burning. He smiled through the pain. 

"Love you, Patty," he mumbled and blew a kiss to the sun.

He turned his head to the side and watched as his finger tips turned to ash. 

"Pete? Pete! Pete?!" 

Patrick jumped out of his car and ran over. Pete grinned at him lazily. 

"Patty!" 

Pete lifted his hands, which were mostly ash, to him. Patrick cursed and quickly picked him up. 

"What were you thinking?! You are so getting it when you heal up!"

Pete just sent him a tired wink. He thought he loved someone new. But it seemed that everyone he loved hated him right back.

"Are you okay?" Patrick asked.

"Patrick..."

"What?"

"I love you."

Patrick was quiet for a minute.

"Shut up, idiot." He replied, harshly.


	24. Alicorn Dust

Pete stared at himself in the mirror, thinking about love, and loss, and drugs. And looking in the mirror. He used to do it a lot more. He squinted at his almost glowing frame in the darkness of the room. He looked different in the dark

Everything was suddenly more defined. His eyes had that tinge of yellow to them, and his skin's grey pallor sparkled slightly under the moonlight shadow. He could hear better. The point to his ears was more definite, too, he guessed that probably came with the sharpness of everything, his vision, his hearing, his slightly obscured jawline. He smiled to himself, looking at his scruffy little half beard on his chin. It was kinda nice. He might keep it.

He turned his head to one side, looking at the patch of infected skin on his neck. Two black circles, each one about two centimetres in diameter, surrounded by a grey patch, that looked more like gravel dust than skin. He touched it lightly with his finger, and gagged at the slight sponginess of it, the way it bounced back like the top of a well baked cake made of death and stone. 

It sparkled though.

There was a tiny silver pile of Alicorn powder on the desk. Vampire drugs. Pete looked at it. He wanted a distraction, but he knew Patrick wouldn't approve. Then again, Patrick didn't approve of most things Pete did.

Patrick's soft snores filled his ears and he let out a sigh. He squeezed his eyes shut and used all his willpower. He thought about bats.

He groaned in slight pain and discomfort before morphing into his bat form. He let out a pained squeaked and gingerly lifted his injured wing to the mirror. It was still slightly scarred, and hurt a little when he moved it.

He nudged his little nose into the Alicorn dust and breathed some in. Just a little, not nearly as much as he got before. Just a bit to lift his spirits and make the scary sharpness of everything go away for a while. 

Patrick snorted disdainfully in his sleep. Pete let out a squeak and glared at his reflection. He looked over at Patrick. He had rejected him. Patrick didn't love him. Patrick only loved himself. 

He turned back into his human form and lay back in his chair. The world was such an annoying place. In the day, he couldn't live, but in the night, he felt like he was on the very edge of a cliff, walking along, trying to get as far as he possibly could before falling into the churning water below him. Except the water was his darkness, and the cliff kept changing shape. Sometimes it seemed like Patrick was trying to push him off, sneering at him, laughing, waiting for the solid ground under Pete's feet to collapse.

He suddenly became aware of his sleep and thus woke up. The wraith of cold necrosis in his body returned. He sighed, allowing the shadows on the ceiling to make pictures in his brain. He felt tired and empty. He looked back at the mirror, and yelled. 

He quickly covered his mouth and looked at Patrick. Or, rather, the other Patrick. 

He looked back at the mirror. No way. This couldn't be real. He hadn't even noticed.

Patrick was on the bed. But Pete was Patrick too.

He slowly waved his hand, just to make sure it wasn't one of Patrick's weird tricks. Magic, it might be, but no. He was Patrick. Even if he did still feel like his cold, slimy, gross vampire self, he looked like Patrick now. 

He smirked and crawled over to Patrick's bag. There were a million different pockets. Pete was curious, but on the other hand, he rather liked having a head, so he just picked out a spare set of clothes Patrick had brought and went to the mirror to change. He stripped down and just stared. 

From his memory of Patrick, which was still a bit hazy, he looked exactly like him. The only difference was Pete still had the nasty cut on his arm. Black and grey with the red blisters from where his body had tried to heal itself, but ran out of fuel. He let his hands slowly roam around, staring at 'himself' in mesmerisation. 

Patrick let out a relatively loud snore, startling Pete and reminding him who he was and what he was doing. He changed into Patrick's clothes and struck a few poses in the mirror.

He watched Patrick make a fool out of himself and laughed. His laughter quickly faded when he remembered he was watching himself and despite looking like Patrick, he was the fool. 

He huffed and crawled into the bed with Patrick, careful not to hit off him. He had to resist the intense urge to spoon him. He wasn't warm or anything. Being very cold all the time seemed to be something Patrick took pride in. Pete smiled with a thought as he went to sleep.

Patrick had to be one of the only people in the world who could truthfully say that they had slept with their own self. 

The night raced by, Pete going against all his natural instincts to sleep in the dark. It was strange, but it reminded him of before. He sniffled. And soon, he cried himself to sleep.

Patrick stood over Pete, glaring menacingly. 

"Get. The. Fuhk. Up." He snapped loudly and shook his shoulder. 

Pete woke up with a yawn. He stretched his tense muscles and lay contently. He looked up at Patrick, his shirt riding up on his stomach. 

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Pete smirked and sat up. 

"What? Do you still not love me? Because that'd really be nothing new." 

"So you think you can steal my clothes and get in the bed and I'll love you?" 

Pete frowned. Why wasn't Patrick freaking out? He quickly got up and ran to the mirror. He made a sound of distress. He was Pete. He was Pete in Patrick's too small clothes.

The jeans were relatively okay, lengthwise, although they were very loose. The top showed off a sliver of his stomach. 

"That's not right! I'm me!" 

Pete heard Patrick giving him a slow, sarcastic clap. 

"Took you how long to figure that out? You've been a vampire for what.. one hundred years or so?"

Pete frowned and turned to look at him. If he was one hundred, he'd have the mind of an a hundred year old. He thought it was pretty obvious he didn't. 

"Five.."

"What?"

"I'm five."

"You're- you're kidding! Oh my god!" Patrick covered his face and tugged on his hair. "I've been dealing with a bloody five year old! I thought you had some mental condition!"

"I do." Pete said. "I'm bipolar. Not fun."

Patrick stares at him blankly then frowned. "Well done..?" 

"Not really..." 

Patrick was ready for an oncoming sulk, but what he got instead was Pete sitting down, and closing his eyes gently.

"Are you trying to meditate?" Patrick asked, confusedly, but his expression went from weary to shocked in the amount of time it took Pete to change. 

"Oh fuhk no."

"Do you love me now?" Pete asked, hopefully, sitting there, looking into the eyes of his lover, now identical to his own.

"It seems that I despise you even more." 

"But baby-"

"DON'T call me baby," Patrick growled at him. "Turn back into yourself, give me back my clothes and follow the fuhking rules."

Pete nodded and put his hands on the bottom of his shirt like he was about to take it off. But instead, he quickly darted out the door and ran down the hall, making a sharp left turn. 

Patrick cursed as followed him like a mother trying to dress her child after a bath. He looked down both halls and decided on the right hallway. 

Pete kept running until he was sure he had lost Patrick. He happily skipped the rest of the way into the lobby. 

He checked behind the vacant reception for a charger, but there was none, so he hopped over the desk and out the back door behind it. He looked around. From here, he could go anywhere. The sun threatened to creep up the horizon.

A hand covered his mouth, from behind. He licked the hand. He was annoyed that Patrick had found him so quickly. The hand did not loosen its grip. Pete was dragged into the back of a van. It was dark. He looked around. It seemed that this was not Patrick's doing. Rather, someone else. Someone, who possibly was worse. He started to panic. Then a needle poked into his neck and he was knocked out cold.


	25. The Killers

_He woke up on the doorstep. What felt like a knife edge cut into his bottom lip. The sky formed in front of him and then..._

_"Ashlee." he groaned._

Pete woke up, being dragged by unknown bodies. He felt as though his neck had been stepped on by elephants. He weakly struggled against the hands.

_Ashlee ran over to him in concern. "You were meant to be home hours ago! The suns almost up! What happened?!"_

A man walked over and grabbed his face. "You're late. It's almost morning. What the hell happened to him? I thought he was meant to be strong."

_Ashlee wrapped his arm around her shoulder and helped him into the bedroom. She lay him down on the bed._

"You know what to do with him." The hands hauled him in to a dark room. They threw him down on the floor.

_Ashlee gently kissed his head. "Were you mugged, baby?" She cooed gently and stripped him, checking for injuries._

They cuffed him to the wall. "Lost your fight? Little baby," they mocked and laughed. They pat him down, checking for weapons.

_Pete slowly reached a hand towards her. She took it and smiled. She kissed his hand and put it back down. "I love you, baby boy."_

He reached up to them, as they took the knife out of his pocket. One of the men smiled. "I can't believe you could've killed someone... Don't look like you'd kill a fly."

_He didn't answer. His hands were shaking. His head hurt, and he fell back on the floor. Ash stood over him. "Are you alright, baby?"_

He didn't speak. His hands were shaking. He hurt his head as he was thrown down to the floor. A figure stood over him. "Are you gonna cry, baby?"

_Something wasn't right. Something was wrong, in his head. The world was spinning around his eyes but he was spinning around the world. He couldn't see, but he could see everything..._

He knew something wasn't right here. He knew something was wrong here. They were looking at him like they knew him, but he knew they didn't. He didn't know them. But looking up, he saw a shadow detach itself from the ceiling. A shadow he thought he knew...

_"Are you drunk again?" Ash asked, warily. He nodded, her words just barely registering. He was fairly sure he was still in shock. He knew something had happened. He just wasn't sure what it was._

"What's wrong with him? Seriously." Pete looked up at them, eyes lidded. He didn't move his head, he could barely hear. He needed to escape. He couldn't move.

_His heart broke, looking at Ashlees disappointed face. He needed to warn her, warn her something was wrong._

"Are you sure this is the right guy?" They asked accusingly. "It looks like him.." Pete hates that he didn't feel out of place being watched by the men and helpless.

_Pete opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out. A choked up whimper barely escaped his throat. He had to warn her._

Pete tried to say something to the men but found his throat closed up, now that he noticed he felt panic low in his stomach. Something was definitely wrong.

_"It's okay to be scared... just tell me what happened." She said softly. He didn't want her any closer. Her heartbeat was too loud in his ears. He backed away. He knew where this was heading, and he knew the only way to stop it. He glanced at the door._

"I thought the great Patrick Stump wasn't scared of anything?" One of the men said harshly. Pete didn't want him any closer. His breaths came short and quick. He backed away. He knew where this was heading, but he couldn't see a way out of it.

_She pouted, putting one arm over his shoulder, draping the other over in turn. "You're my little vampire boy." She smiled. He looked into her eyes, the wide, eyes, not scared. He wished she was. Maybe she'd run. Maybe she'd go away._

Pete bit his lip, taking one knee protectively up to his chest, the other following in turn. "Please don't hurt me..." he cried. He looked into the eyes of his attackers, their narrowed eyes without fear. He wished he could make them scared. Then, maybe they'd run. Maybe they'd go away.

_"Ashlee... please go." That's what he meant to say. It came out as a growl. Something creeped at the corners of his vision, and Ash backed off slightly. "You're... You're... calm down, Pete-" He couldn't hear her anymore._

"Please go away..." That's what he meant to say. It came out as a growl. A shadow creeped at the corner of the room, and the two men backed off slightly. "He... He's coming for you. You're in shit..." He didn't care anymore.

_He caught her by the arm, and dragged her closer, standing up easily with a supernatural grace that most definitely had not been there before. Ashlee tried to shake out of his grip, but he held her too tight._

An arm stretched across the ceiling from around the corner, and a leg followed, shaking with an unnatural jitter every time another disjointed limb placed itself on the ceiling surface. Pete tried to shake off the fear that held him in this form, but it was too strong.

_She could feel the cold breath that he growled with, his claws digging into her arm. He pressed her back against the wall, and leaned down, his fangs gracing her collarbones. "Pete... please." She whimpered. A tiny, tinkling cough answered, coming from deep in his throat. It sounded, for all the world, like some kind of twisted laugh._

He heard it's heartbeat, uneven as it growled like thunder on the horizon. It creeped closer, and now he saw it, the twitching human face it wore, licking its chapped lips, as it dropped down in front of him, a dark brown fringe hanging in front of its eyes. "Please... don't." He whimpered. It smiled. And laughed, quietly.

_Ashlee looked up, up at the face she used to know. He was almost completely unrecognisable. His skin had blanched a pure white that was almost silvery. His fangs poked out over his chapped, colourless lips. His ears had a new point to them, not even covered by his raven hair. She looked down. His bat heart tattoo was accentuated by the papery skin. It felt like paper, too. It didn't feel right at all. She looked back up again, bringing herself, finally to look into his eyes. Gone was the mischievous caramel brownie sparkle, replaced with a listless chartreuse. They weren't Pete's eyes. And this wasn't Pete._

He looked up into the face he knew too well. He recognised the face. It wasn't much different than it had been in high school. The face that he'd loved so much, but been too scared to say it. His eyes were dark, fully black, no light visible in them. A row of shark's teeth behind black lips. He had a tail now, hanging over his head. He looked down, noticing a black bloom on his tight red shirt. It looked like the same one he'd worn on prom night. He raised his head slightly, noticing the huge tentacle-like formations jutting out of his back. He gulped. Was this him? Was this the real Ryan Ross?

_He listened to her heart beating. Quick. Strong. Scared. He groaned. He couldn't wait anymore. She struggled, yelling for him to stop, but he knew he couldn't. He pulled her hair back, and pressed his fangs into the soft skin. Saliva rolled down from his tongue as it forked, the first beads of blood bubbling out. "Please..." she begged. But he bit down in reply._

It stopped in front of him. Ready. Waiting. Hungry. It yowled. It wanted him, and it didn't care who he was. Pete pulled back, but it pulled up its stained and ripped shirt, and opened the wide mouth in the centre of its stomach. It waved its tail over his head as Pete felt acid fill his eyes, his vision sharpening like his fangs. "Please..." he begged. It bit down in reply.

_A scream wrenched itself from a closing throat. A mouse skittered across the floorboards, startled by the disturbing sound. She groaned, her voice breaking just as the skin on her shoulder was. He lapped up the pool of blood hungrily. She let out one last final scream, holding onto his arm, and everything went dark._

He screamed, barely able to sum up the breath to do so as his stomach was punctured. A bat detached from the roof, startled, and he smiled sadly, looking at it with a kinship, a feeling of brotherhood in his heart. It was that that stopped him from crying out again. He knew it wouldn't help. He watched the bats fly from the belfry, and then everything went dark.


	26. The Inexcusable Michael Way

Pete woke up upside down, with something tight and constricting wrapped around his entire body. He was drenched in something foul-smelling and sticky. Well. It wouldn't be the first time. 

He let out a groan and looked around, and got shocked into full alertness. Tentacles. That's what he was wrapped in. He weakly tried to struggle free but his attempts were pointless. He harder he fought, the tighter they got. He looked across he dimly lit room and saw what should've disappointed him. Instead, seeing Patrick filled him with some sort of hope. If his heart was beating it would've leapt. 

He glanced around for the source of the tentacles and came face to face with him again. Ryan Ross. Twitching like a caged rabbit, black crosses running across the red patches on his cheeks, making them look like lightning storms. 

Pete felt like his whole body was frozen but on fire at the same time. Pete looked down, he was himself again. He stared over at Patrick like it was meant to wake him. 

"Patrick!" He whispered loudly. There was no reply. "Pat!" He groaned out. Still not a stir. Patrick was out cold. Pete began to panic. He couldn't get out of here without Patrick.

He watched the bats flutter in the belfry. It was like being the first one at a sleepover to wake up and being stuck in the middle. He couldn't move and he was bored out of his mind. Only this was a completely different situation. This time it was life threatening. 

He wondered if he could turn into a bat like this but he needed a bit more room to do so. He wasn't a pro yet.

His foot twitched as a shiver came over him. He froze straight after and stared at Ryan in fear. But Ryan didn't move and Pete sighed in relief. Then Pete felt something that made his empty stomach turn. 

The tentacles were tightening. Ryan's eyes flew open and Pete held back a scream. He started to struggle, knowing there was no point staying still. 

"Trick!" He grit out through clenched teeth. "Babe cmon! Wake up! I need your pen!" He groaned out. He knew it was pointless but what was he meant to do?

He heard Ryan growl straight in his ear. He let out a weak whimper. "Get off!" He wiggled around, tears rolling down his face and into his hair.

Ryan just grinned and moved closer to Petes face. "I knew it was you. You've always been weak. Way did a bad job on you." He sneered. 

Pete froze at the name. Way. The Way brothers. Pete knew how powerful they were. He probably shouldn't have broken Mikeys heart, or at least not when he and Gerard were already on bad terms. 

"What do you want?" He spat at Ryan. It came out forced and breathless.

"Nothing but you. And him, of course." Ryan answered, advancing slowly. "I won't need your heart. You can keep it. But your eyes... I'll take those." His clawed hands reached for Pete's face, and he tried to lean back, but the tentacles held him too tightly. He struggled in place, knowing he was getting nowhere. Ryan's hunger was etched on his contorted face as he drew closer.

Suddenly, his eyes grew wide, his jaw dropping, letting out a scream that was somewhere between a yell and a high-pitched cackle. His tentacles loosened their grip, letting Pete slide out. He was relieved for a second, until he realised he was falling, tumbling through space. He didn't panic. He closed his eyes, and dropped quietly, and shifted to bat form. 

He watched on as the monster squirmed and thrashed. Looking away, he saw, falling into the black abyss, a body- Patrick. He panicked now, and flapped after him, swooping down and hooking his tiny claws through the younger man's jumper. He couldn't let him fall. Patrick was awake, but silent. He had accepted his fate. He knew he wasn't getting out of this.

Pete flapped as hard as he could, but it wasn't any use. Patrick was too heavy for Pete's tiny frame to carry. Damned tiny bat. It had to be a really small bat, didn't it? A tiny vampire bat who could fly and get out of tiny spaces and all that, but couldn't help where help was really needed. Pete cried out in frustration, and felt the bat form begin to slip away. He was desperate now.

His bones cracked, but he tried to keep together. He'd let them both fall if he changed now. He had to keep trying. He knew he was slowing them down a lot, but he couldn't hold on for much longer. He felt his body stretching out again, unrolling like a thrown scroll, and still, he thought about bats.

There was a ripping noise from somewhere above him. He barely noticed it. He was busy, and adrenaline was blurring the world around him. He flapped one last time. And this time, it worked. He rose up, carrying Patrick with him. The floor came up quickly, but he flapped, dragging his prize with him. He would not let him fall.

They touched down messily to the ground, and Patrick whirled around to look at Pete. 

"P-pete? Did y- Holy shit! Back up ten feet. Wait... Pete? Is- that's you? What the fuck happened?!"

Pete stood there, incredibly confused.

"What is it?"

"You- you're all furry..."

"What?"

"You're like... batboy."

Pete sniffled. He looked at his snout-like black nose in front of him, and at the dark brown fur, the same color as his hair running down to it. He glanced up.

"Batboy?"

"Yeah. Like... a bat person."

Pete grinned.

"Bitchin'."

Patrick shook his head.

"Please never say that again."

Footsteps sounded on the concrete, footsteps from heavy boots, and the rustle of old leather and chains. The darkness drew back from the face of the approaching addition to their party, what little light there was glinting off his very rectangular glasses.

"Oh, thank God." Patrick sighed, seeing who it was.

"Well, Trick? I thought you'd be smart enough to bring a secea dagger to take a shadow neketa but obviously not. I guess I was wrong about you having good taste in men, too." The tall man said, eyeing Batpete warily. Pete glared at him with a death stare that could kill.

"Mikey. Fucking. Way." He growled.

"The very one. Miss me, Pete?"


	27. Dead!

Pete trailed behind the two of them as they chatted, seething. How could he? He told Mikey to stay away. Mikey was meant to be smart, know the boundaries.

_Pete awkward sat on the old worn couch and huffed out a sigh. Mikey walked into the room with two glasses of water and set them on the wooden coffee table. Pete noted how they were on coasters. Mikey had always been a neat freak._

_Pete felt the couch dip beside him but couldn't bring himself to lift his head. He knew Mikey was smiling, something he melted at. He knew if he saw that smile he wouldn't carry through._

_Mikey frowned and took Petes warm hand in his cold one. "Babe?" He asked quietly, smile slipping off his face. A look of concern took over._

_"Mikes.. baby.. I think we should-" Pete scratched the back of his neck. "I think we should break up." He squeezed his eyes shut and winced as the words passed his teeth. He already regretted them._

_He felt Mikey go stiff. His hand slowly retreated. "It's her, isn't it..?"_

_Pete was forced to look at him. Mikey had always looked happy. Always a cute innocent look about him. It's what had drawn Pete in two years ago. Pete was a manwhore, he was dirty. Mikey was the opposite, he was an angel. But now, Mikey was stoic. No emotion on the face that was usually an open book._

_Pete forced himself to nod. "I really do love you, Mikey-"_

_"Save it." Mikey willed away the tears gathering in his eyes._

_"But Mikey-"_

_"Have you slept with her?" Mikey sounded venomous. Pete stayed silent, staring at the musty carpet. It was the only answer Mikey needed._

_Mikey stood up quickly "get out." He said calmly and walked to the door, opening it for Pete. Pete knew he couldn't argue. He didn't have an argument anyway. He got up and sulked to the door. He stopped on the threshold and looked at Mikey._

_For a split second, Pete thought Mikey was going to kiss him. Mikey had glanced at his lips and started leaning in. As though a flip had been switched, he stopped._

_"I hope you're happy with her."_

_The words broke Petes heart. Mikey was showing emotion again. It was slight but it was there and it was sad. Pete bowed his head and walked out the door and down the driveway._

_"I love you, Pete.." Mikey whispered brokenly and closed the door slowly, like he was trying to hang on to every moment with Pete. It made Pete angry. It was like Mikey was trying to guilt trip him._

How dare he. Pete could feel himself involuntarily fang, something that always happened when he was extremely angry.

He looked at Patrick and Mikey, chatting as though old friends. Mikeys face was stoic, like on that day. No emotion shined through. It made Pete ache in the worst way. He forced his face neutral. Mikey was in the past. He'd show him.

Pete stepped up beside Patrick, opposite side to Mikey. He slipped his hand into Patrick's and interlocked their fingers. Patrick was his boyfriend. Mikey was his ex.

Patrick stopped talking mid-sentence and looked down at their hands. He glared, and shook Pete off quickly. "I'm not your boyfriend, Pete. I've told you that already."

If Pete had've eaten he would've blushed. He had never been so embarrassed. The feeling didn't last long. He was cut off from any come back with a spluttering cough. He hacked out a few petals and black inky blood.

He looked at his hands that had been covering his mouth in panic. A quiet but audible whimper escaped his mouth. He stepped back out of line with the two younger boys and trailed behind them sadly.

"He isn't your boyfriend, is he?" Mikey asked.

A look of disgust overtook Patrick's face. "Oh god no." Tears welled in Petes eyes.

"But he's in love with you." It wasn't a question. "It better stay one sided or killing him will be a lot more difficult."

Petes head shot up at the words. He didn't think he had pushed Patrick that far. Maybe Patrick really couldn't take a joke.

Patrick sighed. "I know, I know." His eyes hadn't left Mikeys face. The way Patrick was staring made Pete jealous. Pete wanted Patrick to look at him like that. He spat a daisy onto the footpath bitterly.

Pete walked a bit faster now, hoping to hear more of the conversation. He heard names of obscure weapons that only made him more fearful. He also heard a name that struck a chord. Gerard Way.

_"So you're dating my brother?" Gerard towered over Pete, eyes poisonous red. Pete nodded._

_Gerard backed him into the wall roughly and grabbed him by the collar. "I swear to god, Wentz. You hurt him I'll make every waking moment of your miserable life hell."_

Pete glared at the ground, angry tears pouring down his face. He felt over the bite marks on his neck that seemed to crumble away to ash whenever he touched them. Patrick was working with Gerard to kill him. Now he was fuhked.

They stopped at a parting of the road. Pete could vaguely make out Patrick's car down the left turn. He started walking towards it as the others said their goodbyes. 

Patrick was scuffing his feet. "You've gotta kill him.." Mikey whispered. "Listen, Pete.. he's.." it was the first time Patrick had seen the statue of a man choked up. "He's Pete.." Mikey lamely finished.

"But you know what has to happen."

"Do you even know why it has to happen?" Patrick snapped back. Mikey raised his hands in mock surrender. "Don't shoot the messenger. Just.. get it done."

Mikey sent Pete a look that Patrick could only describe as longing before he turned on his heel and stalked away into the night.

Patrick took the hat off his head and ruffled his hair. He sniffled and raised his hand to his face. He was crying. He was crying over killing the bane of his existence.

The bane of his existence was sitting in his run down car, crying his eyes out over the man he loves, wanting nothing in the whole world but his own death.


	28. Car Radio

Pete sat laying against the door with a juicebox, sipping sulkily on it. He never looked up. He had cried. Tear tracks dripped into his beard. He was trying to hide it. 

Patrick sat up, looking straight forward. He wasn't crying. He was trying to think, but he couldn't. Emotions clouded his thoughts.

"So that's all this is? I'm being led to the slaughter?" Pete asked. Patrick stayed silent, and gritted his teeth. He built up his wall again, wiped away the stream of tears, and ignored him. 

"Yeah. That's what I thought." Pete said, running his gaze right back to the window. Trees blew by, the sky dark, streetlights illuminating the wet asphalt. Rain poured in front of him. Pete felt desolate as the endless land around them. No cars around them. No company. 

He'd just been starting to get used to being with Patrick, just getting accustomed to being dragged along, maybe even beginning to enjoy it. And now, through an overheard conversation, he found out the truth. Patrick wasn't hiding feelings for him, or being too guarded. How could Pete have been so naïve? Patrick wanted him dead, just like all the other hunters. Just like everyone else, who didn't care if he lived or died. Pete was starting to believe that he shouldn't either.

"If you're gonna kill me, just do it now." Pete said.

"I regret what I said." Patrick answered flatly. Pete didn't know it, but Patrick was as lost as he was. If he told him, he wouldn't believe it. Patrick had burned his bridges with Pete, he knew. He'd fucked up big time.

"Is it true or is it not? Are you going to kill me when we get to Chicago?" Pete asked, in an accusing tone that suggested that he already knew the answer. He did. He wanted to be told otherwise, but he knew that he wouldn't be. He was going to die.

"No. I'm not." Patrick lied, keeping on the road. They passed under a sign. 20 miles. It was twenty miles until Pete was dead. They were doing eighty, meaning that it would take them twenty six minutes to get there. Half an hour, and he'd have passed.

"That's a lie." Pete countered. He'd heard what they'd said. Why would Patrick lie to someone that he obviously had the hots for? Why would he lie to Mikey Way?

"I have my reasons for lying to Mikey and I don't have to tell you them." In actual fact, he was lying through his teeth.

"Bullsh- hang on. I didn't say that out loud. How did you- Are you a mind reader?!" Pete yelled in shock, amazed at the revelation his mind had thrown up. Patrick groaned, taking a bar of dark chocolate out of the middle console and biting off a chunk. Through a mouthful of cocoa, he snapped:

"Yes. How fucking long did it take you to figure that out? What, like five months?"

"Six." Pete answered, ashamedly. "Well at least I figured it out!" He added, his anger returning. "But unfortunately, I'm not! Why do you want to kill me?!"

"I don't!" Patrick yelled, thankful that he could be truthful for once. Suburbs started flashing by the window, and Pete's panic grew times the ten on the sign for Chicago they passed. 

"Then why did you tell Mikey? Why were you talking about it?" Pete pressed. Patrick sighed.

"Pete, you don't need to know everything." He answered, taking another bite of his chocolate. 

"Can I have some of your chocolate?" Pete asked. Patrick looked at him.

"Um... Sure." He said, handing him the bar. Pete took it, happily. His juicebox was long finished, and he needed something to chew on. His jaw was hurting. He took off a piece of chocolate, contentedly waiting as it melted on his tongue. Patrick cleared his throat. Pete glanced at him.

"What?" He asked, still holding the bar in his hand. Patrick beckoned for him to give it back with a reproving glance and Pete rolled his eyes, grudgingly returning it.

"Thank you very much." Patrick said. He glanced at Pete, and alarm filled his face. "Oh shit, Pete are- are you okay?!"

"What?" Pete asked, but he knew what was wrong as soon as he spoke. He quickly took his fangs in, and wiped away the blood from where they'd caught on his lip. "Yeah, yeah... my mouth hurts but..."

"You probably just need to bite something. You know, instead of drinking from the juiceboxes all the time." 

"Yeah."

"I know a place where we can stop, just up here. We can take a little detour."

"Thanks Patrick." 

"No problem." Patrick said, and Pete returned to leaning against the door. It was very quiet in the car, giving him a lot of time to think. It wasn't really a good thing, considering. He knew that something was going to happen. Patrick had to be bringing him here for something, and Pete knew that it was probably death. He just couldn't understand why.

"Patrick?" He asked.

"What is it now, Pete?" Patrick groaned.

"Can you turn the radio on?" 

Patrick smiled.

"Sure thing." 

He slotted a tape into the cassette player. Queen's greatest hits. The first song that came on was one that Pete liked but could never remember. I Want To Break Free. Pete would've laughed at the irony, but he didn't really understand irony that well. Then again, he laughed at Patrick, and who the hell understood what was going on inside his head? 

"Laughing at things you don't understand makes you an idiot." Patrick said. Pete laughed out loud, an over-the-top, forced laugh, and Patrick glared. "Stop that. No. Stop. What the fuck are you even doing? Stop it. For God's sake Pete, would you ever just shut up?" But Pete kept on cackling. Patrick shook his head. "You're a weird one, Pete. I'll give you that."


	29. Out of Body

Patrick pulled up to a busy coffee shop. It was full of early risers, getting coffee for whatever it was they spent their time doing. Pete looked out the window at it and grinned. His time was limited. He was gonna try enjoy it. 

"Look babe! It's pink!" He jumped out of the car excitedly, looking at the very garishly decorated café. Patrick sighed heavily. He was guessing it had obviously come under new ownership. Well, it could be worse.

Pete looked around. It was very busy. That was good. The more people there was around, the more time he had. Patrick wouldn't kill him here. He had a reputation to keep. 

Patrick rolled his eyes and got out, slamming the door of the car. "Don't call me babe." He growled, and walked inside the unrecognisable coffee shop. Once it had been a moody but cosy place, cedarwood and stone, with a real fireplace. Patrick remembered practising with his band there, clearing the tables away and closing up early just to make an attempt at Battle of the Bands. 

They won, sure. Mikey played bass. He was such a dick to the runners up when he won that both Joe and Andy voted to kick him out of the band to 'save face'. Patrick knew it didn't matter. They'd never get anywhere anyway. Who would want to listen to Fall Out Boy?

Now the other two, he'd thought they were going places, but the second place band no longer existed, lying in twisted ruins, each ex-member in varying degrees of humanity (mainly Patrick's fault), and now Tyler of the third place band, Twenty One Pilots, was dating some drummer guy from a reformed Muse tribute band called Fullest Sapling and kept getting repeatedly possessed by Lucifer. He was wrong about all he hoped about. It had always been that way.

Pete skipped in behind him and took his hand in his own. Patrick wouldn't make a scene. He did try subtly to shake him off but his attempts only resulted in Pete clinging to his entire arm. He tutted angrily.

Patrick glanced around and decided it was easier to just accept the new addition to his arm. "Pink for a princess." He mumbled. "Princess Pete."

A toothy grin took over Pete's face. "Can I have a grande gingerbread coffee frappuccino?"

"No. I don't need you any more hyper than you are naturally." Patrick walked up to the new glass counter and ordered two regular black coffees. Pete whined loudly from beside him. Patrick shut his eyes tightly. "Does this look like Starbucks to you, sweetie?" He gritted out. 

Patrick glared at Pete from across the brightly coloured plastic table. Pete grinned back happily, pouring in the fifth sachet of sugar into his coffee and kicking his legs under the table.

"So, why're you tryna kill me?" Patrick just ignored the question. 

"Well? Is it because I said I love you?" Patrick took a deep inhalation and let it out very, very slowly.

"Because I can not say it. I'm very good at keeping my mouth shut," Pete grinned at him with his wide, toothy grin. 

"For some reason, I highly doubt that." Patrick sighed and took another sip. 

"Is it because I tried to give you a lap dance in the haunted house?" 

Patrick groaned softly and glanced around at potential eavesdroppers. People he knew, or rather seen around, were in the shop.

"Will you shut up?" He growled. 

"He speaks!" Pete exclaimed. "Now tell me." 

Patrick groaned. "I will spill this burning coffee all over you."

"Then you'll have to deal with me crying."

"I can easily drive away without you."

"Then how would you kill me?"

"Pete!"

"Patrick!" 

Patrick rubbed his face and took a deep breath. If he had known how frustrating Pete was going to be he would've left him in the club. Maybe that way Patrick wouldn't have a constant ringing in his ears from Petes unstoppable chatter. 

"You know Patrick.. I really thought we had something." Pete sighed dramatically. 

Patrick resisted the urge to facepalm. "Jesus Christ Pete, can you shut up for two seconds?" Patrick hissed. 

Pete grinned and counted to two on his fingers. "Boom! Did it. Did I win a blowjob?" He asked hopefully as if he actually expected the answer to be what he wanted to hear. 

That's something Patrick had noted about him. He was used to getting his own way. He was a little spoilt brat and Patrick wanted desperately to knock it out of him. Pete was a difficult little thing in the way he always managed to come out on top, no matter what Patrick did or said. Pete was crafty.

"Just finish your coffee so we can go." Patrick snapped though there was a hint of defeat hanging on his words. Pete, for once, understood that it wasn't a time for jokes. The realisation that his end was right around the corner hit him like a freight train. 

Pete silently drank his coffee, his foot keeping the rhythm of his heartbeat if he had one. Everything he had never achieved flashed through his brain like a 30 foot wave crashing down on an unprepared seagull. Pete stared at the plastic surface in front of him and hid his tears from Patrick behind his mug. He felt pathetic. 

Pete felt the coffee he had swallowed get stuck in his throat. He started choking, coming to the realisation quickly that it wasn't liquid in his throat. He let out a cough, not wanting to annoy Patrick by being any louder than his presence already was. 

Pete let out a relived sigh that it had worked and he didn't have to make a scene. He looked down at his coffee and swirled it around, freezing when he saw the orange petal floating on top like a autumn aesthetic card. 

Pete suddenly stood up, placing the off-white mug on the smudged table with a clink. "I'm done." His voice came out scratchy, him knowing the two words meant more than what they should've.


	30. Home

The car was silent as the city passed by. Pete was curled up on his seat with Patrick's hoodie on once again. He had previously been hanging out of the car but Patrick had successfully scared him with the threat of his head being chopped off.

He had obediently gotten back in the car until they turned down a deserted back road. Chicago was still busy at night and Pete can't remember seeing anything more beautiful.

Pete shut his eyes, letting the wind fly through his un-straightened, natural hair. He felt transported. All he could hear was the wind and the buzz of the radio. He felt at peace for the first time since he had met Patrick. He wasn't thinking about anything, which surprised him. He usually needed medication to clear his thoughts away.

Patrick glanced at the frizzy haired boy and couldn't help the small tugging on the corner of his lips. Though he'd never admit that. Pete looked so young and free and Patrick couldn't wash away the feeling of guilt deep in the pit of his stomach. But he had to. He had to do this. He couldn't change his mind now.

Petes eyes slowly cracked open and he watched the distant city lights in wonder. "They're pretty.." he said softly, as to not ruin the mood, and got back inside the car fully. He leaned his arm on the door and his head on his arm. Patrick thought he looked like a small dog. In a way, Patrick thought, Pete was very much like a small dog. He was always hyper, following whoever would lead.

"The lights?" Patrick asked softly. He couldn't help but feel relaxed in the moment. Everything had been go but now he could just relax and drive the familiar route home. Home. _If home is where the heart is, then I'm fuhked_ , Patrick thought bitterly.

Pete silently nodded. Patrick did too, in agreement to Petes statement. "It's my favourite part of living in the city." He glanced at Pete again.

Pete smiled. He wished he could live in this moment forever. Even after his undead death. He shook his head to clear his thoughts. He couldn't think about that right now.

"Hey Patrick..?" Pete finally tore his gaze away from the blurry, dazzling dots and landed his gaze on the boy next to him. Patrick hummed in response.

"I know you don't wanna hear this but.. I love you. Just don't say anything okay? I just wanna enjoy this moment." Pete looked back outside the window.

Patrick bit back any response he had. He was about to kill the boy, to end his already ended life, he'd let him have that. His grip on the wheel tightened ever so slightly. He just nodded to himself, coming to terms with the fact that what Pete believed couldn't be changed.

Pete sat back in his chair and let the soft music wash over him. His head fell to the side so he was facing Patrick again. "Where are we going?"

"My old house," Patrick glanced down at their hands which Pete had joined. He sighed. "Pete-" he started sternly.

"Don't-" Pete started coughing violently, though he should've been used to it by now. He hacked up a marigold flower and threw it out the window in anger. "-please don't." He mumbled. He sounded defeated, nothing like the annoying yet charming boy Patrick first met.

Patrick just looked out at the road again silently.

Patrick groaned loudly and turned off the music, pulling the car to a stop. Pete took a sharp intake at the complete change of mood in the car. Pete suddenly felt the cold of the wind on his skin and shivered.

It was like the bubble around them, separating the car from life, had burst and they were plunged back to reality. Pete took a deep breath to calm himself.

"What?"

"Those fuhking kids." Patrick growled and jumped out of the car, slamming the door loudly behind him.

Pete looked up at the house. It was like the haunted house they had gone to before. Pete shivered at the thought. The house stood tall, proud and old in front of him. It looked almost daunting. The wood on the fence and house was rotted and the garden was dead, not overgrown like the movies. The house almost shone in the darkness.

Petes eyes zeroed in on the edgy teenagers standing outside it. They were every cliche. The emo, edgy, bad kids and the scared one. Pete remembered when he was in a group like that.

He jumped out of the car and made his way over to Patrick who was talking loudly.

"What are you cunts doing here?!" Patrick near screeched at them. Pete was surprised such a sound could come from such a little man like him.

"We're exploring."

Pete looked at the boy who spoke and felt as though he was staring into a mirror. The boy was decked out in black. He wore a ratty t-shirt under a black leather jacket. His jeans were almost painted on and his liner ringed eyes were half covered by his fringe. And don't even get Pete started on the chains.

"What're you gonna do? Call the cops?" The boy laughed. Patrick growled at him. Pete reached out and gently pulled him back.

The boy laughed. "What? Need your boyfriend to protect you?"

Pete rolled his eyes at the boy. "Don't act like you're not gay. It's pretty obvious. I mean, skinny jeans and makeup?" Pete turned to the boys friends. "Is he really fooling you?"

The boy glared and tried to make himself look taller. He was obviously trying and failing to think of something witty to say.

"Give it up and beat it, right?" Pete sighed in exasperation.

The kids started walking away in defeat but yelled promises of coming back. A taller boy gently tugging at the emo boys hand. "I wouldn't go in there to fuhk if I were you. It's known as the murder house!" The boy yelled as his friends tugged him away in a flurry.

Patrick took deep breaths, clenching and unclenching his fists. "Thanks, I guess."

Pete noted the bitterness behind the words. "Murder house?" He questioned. Patrick just shook his head, signalling to Pete that he wasn't in the mood.

Pete followed his love up the rickety steps.


	31. Flowers

Pete looked around warily. Things looked better inside, not as worn down looking, though the house still gave him bad vibes. With some cleaning it could've had an almost homey feel. Maybe it had, once upon a time. Maybe Patrick used to live here with someone he loved. Maybe Patrick had had a heart. 

Patrick looked around, reminiscing. He tutted, picking up broken objects. He looked worn down himself, like part of him still lived within the house. "Those stupid teens."

"You were a teen once too," Pete spoke up. 

Patrick rolled his eyes and walked dutifully into the kitchen, not bothering to look around and arouse old memories. He wasn't the type to feel nostalgic. He didn't see a point in trying to make himself sad for something he couldn't change. 

Pete paid him no mind. He wandered around, trying to get a feel for what Patrick was like. What he was really like when he wasn't out murdering or unhaunting. 

Pete only found one mildly interesting thing. It was a picture. Golden plated. Pete noted that it was the only one on show. He blew some of the dust off and looked at it. Staring back up at him was a younger, happy Patrick. He was standing with two boys. One had an awesome afro, the other covered in tattoos that Pete couldn't help be jealous of. They were all holding some instrument. They must've been in a band. 

Pete gently brushed Patrick's face with his finger. Pete always wanted to live in the past. When things were easier. Yet he couldn't think of a single time he'd like to be transported to. He sighed and placed the frame back down, wiping some of the grime off the golden frame. 

Pete eventually followed Patrick into the kitchen and jiggled the chair a bit. "What're you doing?" Patrick raised an eyebrow. 

"Making sure it won't break."

"Wow, you mean to tell me you actually thought about something?"

Pete playfully pouted at him before sitting down on a cushion of dirt. "Is this where it happens?" Pete couldn't bring himself to say the words, like it would flip a switch in Patrick. 

Patrick sighed and sat down across from Pete. "Listen, I don't-" Patrick was cut off by violent, shoulder-shaking coughs. Pete didn't move to help like he would've only days ago. He silently waited. They had both changed a lot. 

Patrick cleared his throat and sighed. "I wasn't meant to kill you at the start. But then she showed up and I was ordered by Ger-" Patrick was once again cut off by himself. Pete could finish that sentence for himself though. Gerard Way. 

"Because of Mikey? Wait, she?" Pete asked with a hint of bitterness and confusion lacing his words. Patrick opened his mouth and grabbed his chest. He covered his mouth and hacked into it. He waved his hand dismissively. "Later." He croaked out. 

Pete couldn't help but become angry at that. He had a right to know. There was no later for him. "Tell me!" 

Patrick glared at him, hand over his own mouth. "He wants to dead because of your-" Patrick tried and failed to hold back a spluttering cough. 

"Because of my what?!" Pete screamed. 

"Because he's not the one that tur-" Patrick fell into a fit of coughs again. Pete made a frustrated noise and slammed his hands down on the table in defeat. 

He got up again, his chair toppling over. He needed to move, to get rid of some pent up anger. Patrick watched him, shoulders shaking. For some reason, Patrick couldn't help but notice Petes beauty. How his wide eyed browns shone, how his full lips tugged down and up in reaction to whatever he found. Patrick hacked again and shook his head. He concluded that it was just how he looked in the light. 

Pete looked at the dust covered worktops and all the odd, definitely not for cooking, utensils on them. He feared them. He opened all the cupboards one by one but came up empty handed. "Did you take everything with you? Where did it all go?"

Patrick sighed, Petes tone was stale. "It must've been stolen." Patrick noted the gruff edge to his voice and cleared his throat again.

Pete came to a grimy fridge, stained with things he didn't want to know about. There was no magnets and pictures, no notes or reminders. Patrick must've lived a boring life or had always kept to himself. Maybe he was the same. Pete decided the only thing left to do was open it. 

He grunted and tugged the door open. It cracked open slowly, a thick layer of dirt holding it together. Patrick got up in a flurry. "Stop!" 

It was too late. Petes eyes widened almost comically at the sight in front of him. "Holy shit.."

The fridge was filled with hoards of jars, bottles and vials of blood, ranging in colour. Each container was deemed with a label of a mythical creature or the name of a person. Petes stomach growled at the sight. "What the fuhk?" He turned to Patrick who looked livid. 

"You can't just-" Patrick coughed again. Pete rolled his eyes. 

"Spit it out!" Pete was on his last nerve now. Patrick was walking on a thread. 

Patrick did just that. He spit and coughed, littering the floor with every shade of the colour blue. Pete watched in shock as the flowers fell to the ground, bringing Patrick with them. 

Pete gasped and fell to his knees. "Trick! What's happening?!" He screamed, holding Patrick's head on his lap. 

Patrick looked up at him tiredly, blood pouring from his mouth with an odd petal mixed in. Pete looked terrified. 

"I'm sorry.." Patrick croaked before falling unconscious in Petes arms. Pete watched in horror as Patrick passed out in his own pile of regurgitated Hanahaki flowers. They were blue, resembling forbidden love. Pete felt himself get choked up. Pete shook him quickly, slapping him. "Patrick! Wake up! This isn't fun-"

Pete heard it before he felt it. Heard the air whistle as the object flew through it. He heard the thump before he felt as though his head had been spilt open. Petes eyes drooped before he too fell unconscious. 

Pete fell, draped over Patrick.


	32. Arsonists Lullaby

Patrick grunted softly and slowly cracked his eyes open. It was dark and smelt damp. Patrick wondered if he was still in his house. 

He tried to move his hands but found he couldn't. He was tied down to a chair. The ropes scratched at his wrists and ankles unpleasantly. His chin was tickled by a stray petal stuck to the dried blood. He closed his eyes again, there was no need to see right now. Patrick found himself doing what he swore he wouldn't. Reminiscing. 

He thought about his life (or lack thereof) wondering where he had gone wrong. Wondered how he had ended up here. He took up the family business. Maybe that was his first mistake. He killed people but it wasn't really killing people. It was killing bad creatures. 

Patrick felt something against his lips and opened his eyes again. There was nothing there. Patrick moved his mouth experimentally and cursed when he nipped himself. He had fanged. He had become what he was sworn to kill. 

His stomach growled loudly. He felt helpless and pathetic. He was nothing like the confident boy he tried to be. He was stupid and reckless and now he was sitting alone in the basement, scared and starving. 

Patrick groaned and opened his mouth. His throat felt dry and scratchy when he spoke. 

"Pete this isn't funny-"

There was footsteps on the old, un-trustable steps. There were two sets of footsteps. One sounded too light to be Pete, the other too heavy. Patrick dreaded what was next. 

"We're not Pete."

The light flicked on, flooding the room with brightness. Patrick squinted in the harsh light and glanced around for the source of the voice. It was pretty obvious seeing as there was only three people in his basement. 

Pete was on the floor in the corner. He was obviously just flung down there with him, the position couldn't be comfortable. He wasn't tied down or in ropes. Patrick knew that they didn't see him as much of a threat. Patrick wouldn't either. 

Patrick then looked at the two other figures, blinking rapidly, trying to understand his situation. There was a tall man, around 5'9, accompanied by a girl. She didn't look easier to take. She was about 5'7. Patrick didn't even have a chance to curse his genetics. 

The man stood at his full height, un-moving, like a haunted statue. Then, his face lit up sadistically. Patrick took in his bleach blond hair, once maybe a platinum colour. His eyes were a mix of brown, green and red. His fangs stood pronounced against his full lips. Patrick felt bile rising in his throat. Gerard Way, his once boss. 

Patrick didn't dare to look at him any longer. He looked at the girl instead. He didn't know her. But he guessed by the glances at Pete that she knew him. Her hair was also blonde, her eyes ringed with liner. Her face was pinched in a way that reminded Patrick of some kind of bitchy supermodel. She was tall and carried herself in a way that suggested she wasn't one to be messed with. She was totally Petes type; hot, dominant and smug. 

They were carrying boxes. Boxes full of bags and bags full of blood. Patrick felt a wave of fear wash over him. He knew what was going on and he didn't like it. He was used to having the upper hand. He swore to apologise to Pete after this though he knew he wouldn't. 

"I hope you've been enjoying your stay." The girl spoke up, her voice was like a stepped on flower, beautiful but rugged. Patrick instantly recognised her. This was Petes girlfriend, Ashlee. This was Petes dead girlfriend. 

Gerard smirked and stepped closer. "I see you know my friend Ashlee here?" It was phrased more of a question. Patrick wasn't sure if he was to answer. He gave a curt nod. 

"Well, you see your.. accomplice over there was stupid. He was a baby vampire that got no help. He made mistakes. He didn't kill Ashlee, he turned her. I found her and held a fake funeral so he wouldn't know any better." 

Patrick felt anger bubbling under his skin. He may of hated him sometimes, but that was his Pete. He had pretended to be asleep on those motel nights but he had always heard Petes screaming and crying over her. Over the guilt. Patrick growled louder than his stomach, baring his fangs. 

That's why Ashlee had called way back when. They'd been after Patrick and Pete since day one. If Pete had of picked up he would've went scrambling back to her. 

"I see you've noticed the new... update... we made." Gerard grinned cheerfully, Ashlee giggling behind him. Patrick spat at them, pure cold venom. 

Gerard chuckled and set the boxes down. "Well here we have your dinner. Your first and final meal, if you will!" He said like he was talking to a small child. 

"I'm not hungry." Patrick lied through his teeth. He knew what they were attempting. He wasn't a fool. 

Gerards eyes flooded with red. "I don't give a fuhk." He growled and punctured one of the bags with a straw. He waved it in his face. "Drink it." He growled. 

"No." Patrick refused, closing his mouth straight after the word. Ashlee went behind him, grabbing his hair. She pulled his head back and squished his cheeks together, trying to force his mouth open. 

"Cmon, pretty boy." Ashlee grinned. 

Patrick shook his head violently. A small fire erupted beside Pete. The two superior didn't seem to notice but Pete did. He jumped awake and rubbed his eyes. Patrick was reminded of a small child waking up from nap time. 

Patrick glanced at the fire. It was sudden. Had Pete caused it? Patrick then realised. He had quirks like all of the other monsters. Patrick had spent his days reading about vampires in his younger years. His father had watched him silently from his armchair like it was a normal hobby for kids. Like there was nothing messed up about the situation. 

Patrick had pyrokinetics. He could create and control fire. He wondered what else he had. He wondered if he could control his quirks soon enough to get them off of him. Gerard tried and succeeded to force the straw through his lips. 

Patrick squeezed his eyes shut. He couldn't escape the inevitable. He drank, spluttering. Ashlee laughed gleefully and it became clear she used to smoke. 

They fed him bag after bag. Pete watched helplessly from the corner. He was shocked to see the (once) love of his life stand there without a care in the world. He had laid beside her grave and here she was, right as rain? 

He needed to escape. Pete knew what happened when someone had so much blood. He glanced at the window. This was it.


	33. Absence

The only sound was Patrick's soft pants and water dripping from a broken pipe somewhere onto the cold, cracked ground. The basement was dark and eerie and Pete hated it. It reminded him of the haunted house only this time Patrick couldn't protect him. 

Pete watched in agonising fear as the red and yellow colours flooded Patrick's iris'. Blood dripped down his chin like a loose faucet and all the blood bags were empty. 

Pete needed to escape. At this point, he didn't really see the point of living but pure survival instincts had taken over his corpse. He slowly crawled to the small hatch in the basement wall and started to take off the chain. The hatch was wooden and rotting, only big enough for a slightly large person. He bit back a whimper when he noticed the lock tying two chains together. They'd all hear him going up the stairs, it was older than time itself and falling apart. 

Pete held his arm in pain and could barely stop a grunt passing his lips. With his free hand, he weakly fiddled with the lock. It has to be old enough to break. 

The chain made a soft clinking sound that made Pete cringe. He glanced over at the others and froze. He thought he had been subtle. That maybe they'd forgotten about him. But they were staring. Staring and smiling sadistically. 

Pete watched Ashlee's face. It wasn't the smile he remembered. It wasn't warm and loving, it was tight and forced. She was evil and Pete was scared. A soft whimper escaped him. 

Patrick's eyes snapped over at the small sound and his gaze locked on Pete. He snarled at him, a fire exploding right beside Pete. Pete jumped back and felt his hands start to shake. This was it. This was how it ended. 

Pete looked at the hole in the wooden door that the fire had caused. People could run through fires, he'd seen it in the movies. It always seemed to work for them. What other option was there? Seduce one of them into not killing him? He'd already tried that. 

Pete darted outside and into the old dead grass. The fire was spreading further the angrier Patrick got. He hopped the fence and ran past Patrick's old car, it looked like a distant memory. He ran through dewy fields that, in any other circumstance, would've been almost calming. 

Gerard cut the ropes binding Patrick to the chair. Patrick sprinted after Pete, yellow eyes and snarled lips. Pete glanced back and let out a sob of pure perturbation. All the times he had made Patrick angry, all the times Patrick had snapped, Pete had never been this scared. 

Patrick growled. His mind seemed far away, in a happy place. His body was demonic. Pete stumbled, knees hitting the wet ground, and quickly picked himself back up. He turned away from Patrick and ran. He ran as fast as he possibly could. He sobbed and panted, creating a stitch in his side. 

Patrick watched in shock as Pete zapped away. He tried and tried desperately to keep up. Him and Pete were both bitten by Gerard, so why didn't they have the same speed quirk? Patrick frowned and stopped running. It was pointless, Pete was already just a dot to him. 

Patrick made his way back to his old house, dragging his boots on the cement. Gerard took one look at him and sighed. "I knew this would happen. Where could he be heading?"

Pete didn't look back, couldn't look back. He could feel the dread rolling in his stomach like an uneasy worm. He didn't know how fast he was really going. He hasn't a clue that he was almost out of Chicago. He still thought Patrick was breathing down his neck. 

If he looked back now, he knew he'd scream. He thought they were still close to the suburbs, he couldn't let someone hear him only for them to meet the same fate. 

His body heaved. He needed somewhere to hide. His head hated him, made him hear Patrick's footsteps directly behind himself. Sobs ripped out with choked breaths and Pete felt as if he was dying. Like his lung had collapsed. 

Patrick was still behind him though, any minute he'd be grabbed and slaughtered. Slow and agonising. Pete needed to hide. 

Pete heaved and huffed. He was in the middle of nowhere now. Half way from Chicago to Skokie. He glanced around for anything that could help him. There was a wall in the middle of the field he had jumped into. It was surrounded by stones and moss, once maybe a small cottage. 

The wall held one old wooden door and a broken window. The wall had seen many artists in its days, judging by the amount of penis' and curse words sprayed onto it. The door flickered, as though it was a hologram. Pete knew it had to be his imagination, how worked up he was. 

He ran at the door, as fast as possible. It could be absolutely nothing and he'd keep running until he couldn't. Patrick would drag him back or maybe kill him right here. The hopeful side of Pete's brain suggested he'd end up in puppy heaven. Whatever happened, it was worth a shot. 

Pete ran and ran, eyes locked on his one target. He refused to look back. He was going a mile a minute, the door quickly getting closer. 

Pete cursed loudly and his eyes widened. It was a trick. Of course, it had to be a trick door. Pete tried to stop, tried to slow down. He couldn't. His feet skidded. He fell over. The slippy, wet grass and his built up momentum brought him straight through the door.

Pete panted heavily, the door shutting firmly behind him with the click of a lock. He looked around at the school walls and frowned. He quickly wiped away his confusion and laughed manically. He was safe! 

Then all hell broke loose.


	34. The Academy Is...

Pete jumped in fear. The walls glowed red, an alarm piercing his sensitive ears. He could hear movement, lots of people moving in a panic all at once. Pete made his own panicked sound, covering his ears and squeezing his eyes shut. He heard footsteps on the corridor he was sprawled across. 

Petes eyes slowly opened. He blinked up at the man from the floor. He had long, shoulder length hair. His features were very prominent and sharp. Pete was reminded of Mikey a bit, except the eyes. This boys eyes were smaller than Mikeys and a darker shade of brown. 

The boy pulled an arrow from a pack on his back. He placed it on the thin string of a bow and pulled it back elegantly, pointing it right at Petes forehead. 

Pete whimpered, his eyes filling with tears. Everyone wanted him dead, he caused trouble everywhere. He scrambled back, still on the floor from his dramatic slide. "P-please! Please don't! I'm not here to steal or-or kill or-" Petes frame shook with sobs. 

William reluctantly lowered the bow and arrow. "You're a vampire." He stated. 

Pete nodded nervously. He stared at the weapon like it would grow a mind of its own and shoot him.

"Why are you here?" 

"M-my.. friend got turned and he was fed so much blood and he was chasing me! He was going to kill me and I ran! And I saw the door and I thought I may as well give it a try!" Pete was curled on himself, a blubbering mess upon the tackily tiled floor. 

William nodded, his shoulders slumped. He sighed and rubbed his face. "Hey.. it's okay. Cmon get up" He put his hand out for Pete. His posture had relaxed a good deal since the alarms first went off but he was still clutching his bow and arrow tightly. 

Petes cold hand took the boys warm one and he pulled himself up. Pete dusted off his grimy jeans and rubbed his eyes. "Thanks, man" he mumbled, embarrassed he had broken down in front of a stranger. 

William glanced around. "Alright. Follow me. Try to blend in." William started skirting down corridors, Pete following like a stumbling child.

There was complete chaos further into the school, kids running around with various weapons. Pete whimpered pathetically and grabbed Williams hand, not wanting to get lost in the bustle. 

William entered a dorm room and shut the door behind him immediately. "Sit. Stay. Don't speak." He commanded, pointing at the bed. 

Pete quickly obliged and watched as the tall boy slunk back out through the door. He glanced around the room. It reminded him of his room in college, pretty plain and simple, a few posters here and there. His eye was drawn to all the heavy books titled with different Latin words. 

He could hear the shouting quieten and the rumbling of a thousand footsteps cease to exist. Pete held his breath, what if it had been a lie? What if this was his real end. 

"No. It was a false alarm. I've checked the entirety of the grounds, there's no vampire. It was probably one of the new kids playing a prank." Pete heard Williams voice float through the hardwood door, lying to his elder. 

"You better be right Beckett. This is the lives of innocent people on the line." 

Pete waited silently for a few moments, not daring to move. He heard footsteps retreating down the corridor and sighed. William slipped back in. 

He stared at Pete for an uncomfortable amount of time. "I thought I told you to sit." 

Pete quickly regained his motor controls. "I-I was! B-but I got anxious and I had to move so I-" Pete has never felt so scared in his life. All day, everyone he had met had tried to kill him. 

William dropped his weapon and sighed. "God, you're helpless, aren't you?" He mumbled. Pete nodded pitifully and gazed at the floor. 

He eventually decided to break the awkward silence by pointing at the second bed. "Do you have a roommate?" 

William nodded and started rustling about on his cluttered desk. "His name is Gabe Saporta. You should be meeting him soon." 

Pete nodded and sat back down, this time on the floor. He had some decency. He knew his clothes were filthy and Williams bed looked relatively clean. 

"I'm Pete by the way." He spoke to Williams back. 

"William Beckett. But some people call me Bilvy." He shrugged. Pete frowned but didn't comment. 

"So, explain without the blubbering what happened." William sat on the bed and watched Pete. Pete sighed and started from the start, the very start. He told him about how he'd been bitten by Gerard, 'killed' his girlfriend and met Patrick. He was talking until the sun came up. 

"Gerard.. that rings a bell. Gerard who?"

"Gerard Way." 

Pete watched tiredly as William raced over to his desk and started flicking through a book full of what seemed to be family trees. 

"Why does he matter? How's it going to help?"

"You said Patrick got turned by him as well. If we can track your bloodline we can find a way to break the tracking bond Patrick has on you."

"Tracking bond?"

"How do you think he always found you? You're connected now. He's coming Pete. You can't escape the inevitable."

William turned back to the book and nodded. "The Ways. They each have three quirks. You know what a quirk is, right?"

Pete shook his head. 

"It's an ability that a vampire has. Like, some could have the ability to read minds or control others with their mind." 

Pete nodded. "Well, I can shapeshift. Would that be one?" 

William nodded, his wavy brown hair bouncing with the action. "By the sound of how you got away, I think you have a speed quirk."

Pete nodded. William frowned. "You said Gerard turned you."

"Because he did."

"No he didn't. His brother did."

Pete jumped up and stormed over. "Excuse me?" He looked at the old, frayed book. There, connected to Mikey, was his sunken face. He watched as Patrick's face slowly materialised next to Gerard. 

Pete cursed and growled. "That petty bitch." He huffed and stomped his foot. 

"Let's just try and find your last quirk. It could help you when the time comes."

Pete wasn't sure whether he loved or hated him for not saying the words. He didn't have time to think though, soon the sun would go down and so would Pete.


	35. Quirk

They'd been trying for ages now with no luck. William had thrown every type of obstacle at Pete and Pete hadn't been able to tackle any of them. Neither of them could figure out Petes last quirk. Pete was starting to believe he didn't even have one. 

They had resorted to practicing his other two quirks at that point. William had suggested it since he'd booked the field out for another few hours and wasn't willing to let it go to waste. 

Pete panted heavily and stopped beside William. It was sunny outside due to the magic of the academy. It was artificial light. Pete hasn't trusted it at first but William had dragged him out by the hair. 

William was elegantly sprawled on the faux grass with shades covering his honey eyes. Pete fell to his knees beside him, gross and sweaty. He'd been running laps for what felt like days. 

"You're getting faster." William observed. 

"I'm getting tired." Pete mumbled and lay down, limbs flailing out in an attempt to get comfortable. 

"Let's practice your shape shifting then." William sat up and crossed his legs. Pete groaned, rolling over and getting a mouth full of spiky grass. He forced himself to sit upright and stare at William. 

His hair grew out and gained more volume, his features shrunk and he became taller. Petes skin bubbled and his stubble retreated back into his skin unnervingly. "How do I look?" Pete grinned when his skin had stopped bubbling. 

William tilted his head, staring at the carbon copy of himself questioningly. "Sexy." He concluded, making Pete roll his eyes. 

William smirked. "Hey Pete? What did you look like as a teenager?" 

Pete groaned and shut his eyes. "I don't even wanna talk about it." Pete informed him, not even noticing the changes his body was undergoing. His face went back normal before slowly becoming younger. His hair grew out rapidly, flowing over his shoulders with a natural wave to it. His tattoos disappeared and his skin became more tan. His features seemed a lot bigger, like they took over his entire face. 

"It was horrible. I never wanna think of it again." Pete rubbed his eyes before opening them. 

Pete looked at Williams amused face with confusion. "What? What's so funny?" 

William broke then, he couldn't contain himself. Petes eyes widened and he looked down at himself in horror. "No!" He screamed in terror, tugging at his hair. "Oh please no!"

Pete quickly squeezed his eyes shut and tried to form back into his normal self. "Oh please no. I don't want another ponytail!" He whined loudly. 

"Ponytail!" William cried and laughed. "Oh my god! Look at you!" He shrieked and rolled around on the grass. Pete whined and covered his face with his hands, not that his hair wasn't already doing it for him. 

William rolled around on the grass laughing, stopping every few minutes until he saw him again. Pete waited impatiently until William had calmed down to speak. "Can you please cut my hair? I'll do anything." 

William chuckled and wiped his eyes. He stood up and nodded. "Sure, little man. You can meet some of my friends while you're at it."

Pete groaned. He didn't want anyone to ever see him like this but he had no choice. 

Pete followed William through the corridors, blending in with the other mismatched students. They moved through the students milling about and got to Williams dorm. Pete followed him in through the door, freezing when he saw the other occupant of the room. 

He was tall, very tall, and Pete recalled William telling him his name was Gabe. Gabes features were sharp, his nose had a slight point and his jawline was defined. His lips were full and Pete found his gaze lingering there momentarily. He was embarrassed, standing in front of one of the hottest boys he'd seen while looking like his teenage self. 

His skin bubbled and two of his tattoos reappeared. His face seemed to fill itself out properly, his lips no longer taking up with entire face. His eyebrows became bushier and his hair grew shorter with a slight spike to it. 

He stared at the boy, Gabe, with a hint of longing. He needed to get over Patrick, he was pointless to think of romantically now. He was officially off limits. Pete swallowed back the flower rising in his throat. 

Pete came back to reality when Gabe broke eye contact with him. William sat down at his desk and leaned back in his chair. "Group meeting." He said, clear and simple. 

Gabe nodded and stood up. "I'll go round up the girls." He sent a wink Petes way and rushed out the door. 

"Gabes a no." William stated. Pete opened his mouth to protest but was cut off by the door dramatically slamming open. The girls that thundered in looked just as dramatic as their entrance. 

"Let me at him!" 

Pete watched in fear as two girls stormed into the room. The one who had spoke had long dark hair and a grunge look to her. Her eyes were smeared with black makeup, she was the definition of a scene girl. Pete couldn't deny that she was pretty. 

The other girl calmly stepped in and glided over to the bed. Her black hair was in pigtails and her lips glowed a vibrant red. 

William rolled his eyes. "Alicia, stop mauling the poor boy. Pete that's Alicia and this is Lindsey" William informed him. 

Alicia stopped pinching Petes cheeks and stepped back. "You're cute," she winked. Pete was starting to wonder if everyone in the academy was a natural flirt. 

William gathered them up into a small circle. "You know how the alarm sounded? It wasn't a false alarm. It was Pete-"

Suddenly, the walls glowed red again and the siren sounded. "Fuhk it! I'll explain on the way! Pete, stay here. I gotta find someone." William jumped up and grabbed his bow and arrow. The other three followed suit, leaving Pete in the dust. 

Pete felt himself start to shake. They were here. Patrick had found him and he'd brought Gerard and Ashlee. Pete jumped up and started to pace. He tugged at his hair, desperately trying to come up with some form of plan. 

Pete groaned. He was frustrated at himself. He couldn't let Patrick control his entire life. Pete stomped his foot like an angry child. 

The floorboard beneath him squeaked uncertainly. Pete noticed it looked detached from the rest. He knelt down and tugged it off. There was a small hole in the floor. In it lay a single hat. 

Pete frowned and slowly picked it up. He examined it curiously and noticed the name sewed onto it. 

'Patrick' 

Pete slowly placed it on his head and realised his last quirk. 

Visions.


	36. The Kids From Yesterday

Pete felt himself falling through space and time. Images rushed around him like a film in fast forward. Pete looked around himself in a panic, he couldn't hear the sirens anymore. He couldn't hear anything. The silence was deafening. 

Pete felt himself hit a wooden floor and rubbed his face. He slowly sat himself up and looked around. He was in Patrick's house again. This time everything looked unnervingly spotless. 

The fire crackled warmly. Pete had been right, the place did have a homey feel. The large fire place stood proudly in the centre of the back wall. Bookshelves and work desks pressed against the walls. There was no electronics. Beside the fireplace there was a couch and an armchair. They were both bright blue and striped and surrounded a wooden coffee table. 

A man was sitting on the edge of the armchair, as though he was about to leap off of it. He looked kind and caring but his eyes held something else, he looked crazed. 

He was looking at, what Pete assumes was, his son. The little boy was chubby and dressed in sweatpants and a cardigan. His hair was awkwardly split down the middle. He had an old frayed book in his hands. The title was in Latin. 

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"It's amazing isn't it?! There's magic everywhere! We're going to defeat it though. Don't you worry your head." 

The man rested his hand reassuringly on the boys knee, looking deathly serious. The uncomfortable boy looked uncertain and worried for his father. He nodded anyway and smiled weakly at him. 

"Yeah dad. Of course we are."

"What're we doing?!" A high pitched voice squawked from the doorway. Pete watched a woman stubble in. She was wearing high heels, a mini skirt and a tank top. Her makeup was applied heavily and sloppy. She stumbled over to the couch. 

She leaned against the arm of the chair, some beer splashing out of the tightly gripped beer bottle. "What's my little boy doing?" She looked over the boys shoulder at the book. 

Her face took on a look of confusion and disgust. She plucked it out of the boys grip. The man stood up. "Give it here, Patricia." He ordered. 

She rolled her eyes. "This magic bullshit again, David? Don't worry Patrick, it's all crap." She announced to her son as she drunkly tore a page out. 

David stood up and quickly snatched the book from her hands. Pete watched the boy, Patrick, pick up the page and stuff it in his pocket before either of them noticed. 

"Fuhk you Patricia. God, you ruin everything don't you?" David spat angrily and stormed out of the room and out of the house. 

Patrick watched his parents, deflated. He sighed and watched his mother trip around in search for her purse. 

Pete watched the scene disappear like he was zooming out of the memory. He shut his eyes tight, feeling dizzy. He opened his eyes again when the wind stopped whistling in his ears. 

He was back in the academy. In Williams room. He slowly stood up but he couldn't hear the sirens. He walked over the door and reached out for the handle but the door suddenly opened and went right through him. Pete watched in shock as Patrick walked into the room with another boy. 

The boy was tall, towering over Patrick. He had brown eyes, Pete was starting to notice a theme, and some stubble on his chin. He had a large forehead and his face held a goofy smile. Patrick sat on the bed and crossed his legs. With a closer look, Pete noticed Patrick was blushing. 

Pete felt a surge of jealously run through him. Patrick liked this boy. 

"So what's up, shorty?" The boy grinned. 

Patrick scratches his arm nervously. "I need some help with my powers.." he trailed off uncertainly. He pulled his hat down further on his head. Pete felt his own head, feeling the same hat. 

Brendon grinned and sat back on the bed. "What do I get in return for helping you?" He challenged. Patrick leaned forward desperately. "I'll do anything." He pleaded. 

"Aw Stump, you're just too cute. A sweet thing like you, so desperate to succeed, so desperate to make something of yourself, for respect, that you ask a half demon for help." Brendon taunted. 

Pete wondered what Patrick ever saw in this boy. He seemed like an asshole, maybe he's where Patrick learned it all. Maybe Pete took Patrick's role in this situation. 

Suddenly, the lights went out and Pete was plunged into a dark abyss. He looked around in a panic before a small lamp switched on. Patrick's face was illuminated in the dim light. He was wrapped loosely in his blankets. 

He felt for his glasses before shoving them on his face. Pete watched in awe. He coughed up a single blue petal onto the wood and watched it disintegrate the second it hit the floor. 

Patrick slowly stuck his foot out of the bed, the rest of his body following. He creaked the door open and stepped out. Pete followed the pyjama clad boy down the corridor and into a classroom. 

"Bren?" Patrick whispered. 

"Took you long enough." 

The light came on, blinding both Pete and Patrick. Patrick stayed put, letting Brendon come to him. "You know Pattycakes, when I first met you, I knew you'd have something for black magic."

Patrick rolled his eyes. "Can't we skip the chatter?" He crossed his arms. This was more like the boy Pete knew. 

Pete leaned forward, intrigued, before he was plunged back into the darkness. He picked himself up again and watched as Patrick gripped his hair and cried. 

It was Patrick's bedroom again. It only had one bed, unlike last time. Patrick was sprawled amongst a million and one books. 

"You know, I could help you." A voice hissed. 

Patrick scoffed. "What could you possibly do?"

"I could make you a copy."

"Copy of what?"

"You."

"And what would another me do?"

"Your exams."

"At what cost?"

"One."

Patrick nodded slowly. "I can do that.." he said softly. 

"Tomorrow."

The lights went out again and left Pete in a confused state. One what?

The light slipped through the curtains of the room he was in and Pete was getting sick of this. He dreaded what would happen this time. 

Patrick stood in a room with a familiar boy. It was the boy, Ryan Ross, the boy with the tentacles. 

Ryan looked scared. "What's happening Patrick?"

"Don't speak."

Ryan's head was suddenly thrown back, his mouth open in a silent scream. Patrick watched in horror as his friend lost all traces of humanity right in front of him. His face contorted and his stomach ripped itself open, his back copying. Tentacles tore through his skin. Patrick stepped back in shock. 

"Leave him be. Stay in your room, your exams begun."

Patrick nodded and quickly scrambled passed his once friend. He ran out the door and to his bedroom. He sat on his bed and rocked back and forth. He tugged his hair and sobbed. Pete watched sadly as the boy he loved broke down in front of him. 

Patrick eventually tired himself out and fell into a troubled sleep. Pete watched him toss and turn until a knock on his door sounded. 

Patrick stumbled over and opened it. A short boy stood there, he looked pissed. 

"Frank Iero, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Patrick chirped. Pete was shocked at his ability to hide his feeling so well. 

Frank pushed his way in and slammed the door. "I know what you did."

Patrick's mask faltered. "Wh-What?"

Frank stepped closer to Patrick, their chests almost touching. "I. Know. What. You. Did." He spat. 

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Your exam. Ryan." Frank growled. Patrick cringed back. "Frank I-"

"Save it. Just.. watch out."

"For what?" Patrick's eyes widened in fear. 

"Gerard."

Frank smirked and left the room as quick as he came. Patrick's breath caught itself in his throat and he fell to his knees, staring at the door. 

"Oh god.." he whimpered. 

Pete desperately called Patrick's name as he was pulled from the scene. It didn't come out. His throat hurt from screaming but no sound was coming out. 

He landed in a dark, grimy bathroom. He watched as Patrick sat against the toilet, dragging a razor across his wrists. Pete gasped and fell to his knees. He sobbed loudly, he knew he couldn't help and he hated himself for it. 

He watched as the black blood poured from Patrick's delicately pale skin. Patrick furiously rubbed at his eyes and got up violently. He slammed the door open and stormed out. Pete followed, only now noticing that Patrick was fully naked and so was the body in his bed. 

He was no longer in the academy. 

"You know," Patrick said to the dead body conversationally, "Gerard says he's found a formula to stop our reliance on blood. Wouldn't that be great?" He chuckled bitterly. "Isn't life great? You wouldn't know, would you?"

He didn't like this scene. It reminded him of himself too much. Pete prepared himself when he felt the tug on his body. Only this time he wasn't going away from the scene, he was rushing through it. 

Fire engulfed him and he looked around in a panic. He could hear the screams of a thousand innocents. His eyes finally landed on himself. He was desperately reaching for Patrick's hand but by a millimetre, he missed.

Pete watched in horror as the flames swallowed Patrick and soon the whole image. 

He cried out, this time he could hear it. He landed back in the academy. He was crying and shaking. He panted heavily as his eyes focus in on William and another boy. Ray Toro. 

"We think we know how to help."


	37. Hail Satan

Pete followed William and Ray through the eerily quiet halls. The sirens had been silenced and the lights had stopped flashing but were still on, painting the corridors in red. The lights were the only thing signalling any kind of danger in the empty corridors. 

Pete vaguely wondered where everyone was. They must've evacuated but, wasn't this what they had trained for? 

Pete followed the boys down to the basement and shuddered. He recognised this room and with closer inspection he managed to pinpoint it in his mind. Ryan Ross has lost his humanity in this exact room, the bloodstains remained to prove it. 

It was like another world for Pete, to stand where Patrick once stood. It was like reliving Patrick's memories but this time as Patrick himself. 

Ray shoved an empty water container and a bucket into his hands, bringing him back to his own scene. "Am I gonna fight them off with these?" Pete asked incredulously, wondering if they had some hidden power like Patrick's pen. 

Ray rolled his eyes. "No, idiot. We're going to collect holy water from around the school." He threw some containers at William, finally grabbing his own. 

Pete followed them back up the cement staircase and into the labyrinth of corridors. "Where is everyone?" Pete wondered aloud. He watched as Ray abandoned them down a dark corridor. 

William slapped a hand over Petes mouth and pulled him against a dark corner, in between two rows of lockers. Petes eyes widened as he heard the footsteps that sounded all too similar to Patrick's heavy boots.

Pete watched in unadulterated fear as Patrick passed them. His lips were snarled and he was growling. His eyes were fully yellow, his clothes dirty. He looked around himself and froze. William quickly held his breath. 

Pete felt a horrible choking sensation in his throat. He gagged against Williams hand and got a warning look in return. 

Patrick eventually gave up and continued down the hall. Pete waited until he was a safe distance away to quickly threw up the flower in his mouth. Williams eyes widened comically. "Oh god..." he mumbled. 

Pete gave him an awkward look and wiped his mouth. "Let's just go," He croaked out. 

William pulled him down the hallway. He ducked into a dark classroom that resembled a church and ran to the basin in it. "Fill up as much as you can."

Pete nodded and dutifully dunked the bottle in the water. He held it down with the top of his finger and cursed. "Bilvy? A little help?"

William sighed and took it back out when it was full. "We'll get some from my locker next, that way you won't have to touch it."

William dumped half of his bottles into Petes bucket, making sure none of it splashed on him. William stuck his head out the door and glanced around. He gestured Pete out and slunk towards the hoards of brightly painted lockers. Each one seemed to resemble a different power. One particular locker caught Petes eye. It was dark and grim. The lockers had names, not numbers. On it was a faint 'P. Stumph'. Words were scratched onto it, horrible mean words. 

William opened one labelled 'W. Beckett' quickly and grabbed a bunch of vials and flasks. "Cafeteria. Then back to the basement." He whispered to Pete. 

Pete remembered the cafeteria, they'd passed it on the way to the field. He lead the way this time, checking around corners and ducking into the shadowed places. 

The pressed his ear to the cafeteria doors and quietly cursed. "There's someone in there." He mouthed to William. 

The younger yet taller boy lead him away and to a smaller door. "Silent." He hissed and opened the door to let Pete in. Pete crawled in. He glanced around, noting he was in the kitchen. He peeked out through the window in the conjoining door. His breath hitched, seeing Ashlee. 

William gently pulled him away and ran to the taps. He put Petes bucket under one and started filling it up. He then did the same with his own. Pete looked out the window again and bit his lip. "Bilvy? She's gone."

William cursed. "Watch out. If she sees you or comes near you, whatever you do, don't scream." He pleaded. He slowly opened the door and glanced around. "Cmon."

Pete followed him down the corridors, walking slower than William. He watched the water slosh around in the bucket and moved his foot when some spilled out. He could head Ashlees high heels clipping around quite near to them. 

He followed William back down the stained stairs and back into the basement. Ray was tapping his foot loudly, surrounded by barrels of holy water. "I thought you were never coming back."

"See that?" Ray pointed to the ridiculously large water keg. "That's the sprinkler system. It's almost empty from the fake fires some students set off. We gotta dump all the water in." He explained quickly. 

Pete and William nodded dutifully, dumping everything they had inside. Pete handed the two the containers, too scared of the splashing to go anywhere near it. 

Ray stopped when the keg was filled to the brim. He rustled around in his bag for a match box. "Here goes nothing." He clambered up the stairs loudly, not that hiding would matter any more. William quickly disabled the sprinklers in the basement as Ray lit a match under the fire alarm. 

Pete watched Ray from the open door. He began to panic when the sprinklers came on. It would hurt Patrick. Patrick couldn't die, Pete wouldn't let him. 

Before either of the boys had the chance to stop him, Pete was darting out of the room and sprinting around the school. Tears fell out of Pete's whiskey eyes as his skin began to burn off. He screamed but didn't stop running. 

His teenage facade fell and he was left to bare his emotions. Pete located the sound of Patrick's yells quickly and ran towards him at high speed. He froze when he saw him. He watched Patrick try to keep himself in control. 

Pete didn't know what he'd hoped to accomplish, he couldn't do anything but watch. Patrick and Pete held eye contact as they both cried. The holy water hadn't reached the main hall yet. 

The yellow melted out of Patrick's eyes and brown and blue locked together. Pete watched as Patrick tried to keep control. He felt helpless. Nothing he did or say would matter now. 

He fell to is knees, watching as Patrick screamed.


	38. The Phoenix

Pete suddenly became very aware of his surroundings. He could feel the eyes of all the students watching them and when he looked up he could see familiar faces in the surrounding crowd. He looked at Gabe, William, Alicia and Ray helplessly. Lindsey wasn't there, or he couldn't see her.

They all looked on in dismay, the only ones who truly knew what was happening. Pete couldn't face the pitying looks they were sending. He adverted his tear filled eyes.

At the other side of the circle, he could see the boy from New Jersey. Pete thought his name was Frank or something of the sort. That's what the contact had read when he'd answered the phone for Patrick. That felt like centuries ago. Frank was pressed between Gerard and Ashlee. Pete choked back any kind of noise that would make him seem weak.

The room went silent when Patrick stopped yelling. He seemed to completely freeze, like someone had a pause button over him. Pete stared at him, not knowing what was next. Nobody moved, nobody spoke.

Suddenly, a man broke through the crowd roughly. He split the crowd like the Red Sea. He was quite tall and angry looking. He had a moustache, a beard and long shoulder length hair. He looked gruff. He was flanked by two other people. Gabe had told them about these.

It was the principle, flanked by two of the school protecters. Pete wondered what had taken them so long. It felt like peace had been years ago.

"What's going on?" Spencer boomed. His voice was commanding, almost threatening someone to antagonise him. 

Chaos broke out around him and Patrick, everyone trying to explain or complain. Limbs flailed widely and words spilled from students' mouths like waterfalls.

Pete stared back at Patrick again. He looked horrible and still. There wasn't one moment Pete could remember that Patrick voluntarily didn't move. Pete wanted to crawl forward and embrace him but he knew it wouldn't end well. He stared at Patrick, tears falling down his face rapidly.

Loudly, a voice cut through the silence. It had a thick Jersey accent and when Pete looked up, his eyes locked on Frank Iero. Pete looked confused, this man lived in New Jersey, why the hell was he at the academy? Maybe he'd followed them.

Frank began to explain to Spencer from the very beginning. "It all started with our exams-" he glanced at Patrick's weak form.

_Frank followed Patrick down the damp cement steps and into the murky basement. He and Patrick had had a competition going since they both begun going to the academy. They were both striving to be the best, to get the best. Patrick had always been book smart, Frank the opposite._

_Frank looked around the corner and took in the scene before him. It was dark but Frank could make out that there was a boy with him. Frank recognised him from Defence class. Ryan Ross, Patrick's best friend. They were never usually seen without each other._

_Ryan looked scared. "What's happening Patrick?"_

_"Don't speak." Patrick commanded though there was something else in his voice. Frank couldn't place it. Fear? Regret?_

_Ryan's head was suddenly thrown back, his mouth open in a silent scream. Frank watched in horror as the boy he'd seen around campus levitated and was ripped apart right in front of him._

_"Leave him be. Stay in your room, your exams begun." Frank heard a voice hiss. He knew that voice well._

_Patrick nodded and quickly scrambled passed his once friend. Frank quickly pressed himself against the dark wall as Patrick passed him in a flurry. Frank chanced one more glance around the corner. He fled quickly. He hadn't stuck around to see what had happened to his own sacrifice._

"Patrick cheated. He gave up the life of his friend, Ryan Ross, in order to pass." Frank told him, leaving out the fact that he himself had cheated. A murmur broke out around the students.

"Patrick here, was turned. Gerard Way turned him." Frank smirked at the disbelief amongst the crowd.

Petes head snapped over to look at them. He looked at where Gerard had stood moments before. He was no longer there. Pete glanced around but couldn't find anyone that even resembled him.

_Frank dropped to his knees in front of Gerard, his hands clasped together. "Please!" He begged._

_Gerard groaned. "Frank, no. Get up. I'm not doing it."_

_"Gerard!"_

_"Why Frank?! Why is it so important to you?!"_

_Frank groaned and tugged at his hair. "It just is!"_

_Gerard rolled his eyes and turned to walk away. "I'm not getting caught up in your stupid rival with Patrick Stump. Me turning him would just make him more powerful wouldn't it?"_

_Frank grabbed his ankle quickly. "No. Gerard, please don't walk away. I'll do anything!"_

_Gerard looked at his childhood friend and sighed. "I- what do I get in return?"_

_"Anything. I'll owe you, big time."_

_Gerard sighed and nodded. He walked out of the room._

_"What was that about?"_

_"Did no one ever tell you not to eavesdrop, Mikey?"_

_"Yes. But as Pete taught me, the best things you hear in life are the things you're not meant to." Mikey said with a proud smirk. Gerard rolled his eyes and walked away. He didn't hide his dislike for Mikeys boyfriend, he was corrupting his baby brother._

Whispers broke out amongst the crowd again but were quickly silenced. Pete watched as Patrick suddenly gained control of himself again.

"Patrick Stumph. Prepare to have your magic revoked."

Patrick squeezed his eyes shut, he knew what he deserved. All his life, all his learning, had gone to waste over one stupid mistake. Too much stress had been put on him and his only concern was to make it stop. He had robbed his only friends humanity.

Suddenly, the sprinklers turned on in the hall, the holy water finally catching up to the schools system. The students flinched as their clothes were slowly soaked through, but no one moved.

Pete gasped at the burning sensation. He felt as though his whole body had been lit on fire and there was nowhere he could run for cover. He choked on his own saliva and opened his mouth in a silent scream.

Patrick yelled out, unable to keep his composure as his flesh was burnt. Patrick could feel fire spread throughout his body, as though it was being carried through his veins by his blood.

A fire erupted out of him, the white flames licking their way through the hall and surrounding everything in and out of sight.


	39. Nightmare Come True

Pete screamed, tears streaming down his face like a broken faucet. He watched as flames engulfed the hall, students running at every exit but only a few making it. He could hear them yelling, calling out for the first person that popped to mind. 

He could hear another yell from across the hall and it wasn't Patrick's. Pete lifted his head and blinked back his tears just quick enough to see Gerard. Gerard was on his hands and knees, balls fisted as if it would help. He was choking, coughing and spluttering onto the floor. 

Pete watched in horror as Gerard skin melted off in clumps and turned to ash before it even hit the ground. 

Gerard shakily reached a hand up to his face. Pete gagged at the sight. A huge hole had fallen out of Gerards cheek leaving all his teeth visible and the skin on his hand was mostly gone, leaving Pete to gawk at the bones sticking out unsettlingly. 

Pete whimpered, already knowing what would happen to himself. He choked on the bile rising it his throat. It was getting too hot. Pete could feel his skin blistering under the intense heat. The water was raining down heavy now, burning Petes skin to ash. 

Pete coughed through the smoke of the fire and weakly stood. Everything seemed like slow motion. He'd always sworn to himself that if he died, he'd go doing something worthwhile. 

He stumbled to the ring of flames and spluttered. He felt as though his stomach was at his feet and he had the sudden urge to throw up.

Pete could see faint outlines of kids in the fire. He was suddenly hyper aware of everything happening. Things seemed to speed up and get louder. He could see students throwing buckets of water or using their powers to shun the flames. 

Petes breathing picked up rapidly. He grabbed the first hand he saw and pulled it from the flames' grips. He looked at the kids horrified and slightly burnt face. He quickly began grabbing hands and pulling them out, trying to save all the souls he could. The holy water had stopped spraying at some point in the hustle and Pete silently thanked whoever had turned it off.

The students were overpowering the fire now and it was quickly going out. Only the ring of fire in the middle of the hall remained.

Pete ran to the ring. Only two people were still in it. Ashlee was screaming, crying for him. Pete looked confused.

He looked over to Gerard. But Gerard wasn't moving slowly, Gerard wasn't moving at all, because Gerard was replaced by a pile of ash. 

Petes head snapped back to Ashlee. If Gerard was dead, all the people he'd turned would become normal people again. 

Pete quickly reached for her but was stopped quickly by a second hand arising to take his. Pete looked at Patrick's sorry face and began to panic. 

"One second Patrick. I'll get you babe! I promise!" Pete yelled and took Ashlees small hand in his own. He weakly pulled her through the flames. Students ran to her aid quickly. Pete screamed and fell to his knees, the holy water pouring from the ceiling again. The fire alarms must've set it back off. 

Pete quickly turned back to the flames and reached out for Patrick's hand but it was too late. The fire had spread inwards quickly. Pete missed his hand by a millimetre. 

Pete let out a sob and moved closer to the flames. "Patrick!" He screamed desperately and repeatedly. He knew he must sound like a broken record. 

"Patrick!" The words tore through his throat again. 

"Patrick!" Pete stepped to the edge of the flames. 

"Pete!" Pete felt his body being engulfed by strong arms and tugged back. 

"No! Patrick!" Pete kicked and clawed at whatever was holding him. He had to save Patrick, he'd promised him. 

"Patrick!" 

"Pete! You can't help him!" Pete hears the voice but he didn't listen to it. 

"Patrick!" Pete sobbed out, starting to loose his fight. 

Petes honey eyes met Patrick's. Pete found it ironic really, how Patrick's eyes were like an ocean but created fire. They could both engulf you, drag you in. They both had a panic filled, agonising deaths. 

Pete watched on, still weakly fighting to get closer though deep down he knew there was nothing he could do. The front of his body had been burnt from how close he'd been to the fire. His shirt had no front at this point, only the sleeves and the back holding it on his slight frame. 

Patricks movement begun to slow down, his soul going further into the flames of hell. Slowly, Patrick turned to stone right before him. Petes eyes were fixated on his. The hands holding him had loosened since Pete gave up fighting. 

Pete quickly surge forward again. "Patrick!" He screamed. The bile rose in his throat again. Two sets of hands quickly grabbed him, Pete fought them off as much as possible. 

Pete sobbed, throwing up flowers and petals all over himself. He choked on them. He covered his front with a thick layer of black liquid and beautifully colourful contrasting flowers. 

Pete kicked and screamed and cried. He wanted to be with Patrick, needed to be with Patrick. 

Pete felt himself being flung backwards, his head hitting he ground hard. His hands were pinned to his sides and his legs were sat on. Suddenly, he was forced to look at the faces of William and Gabe. 

"He's gone, Pete. It's over. He's dead." Pete stared at the two boys, eyes unseeing and slightly crossed. He could tell their mouths were moving but he'd stopped listening after those seven words. 

Pete sobbed, his eyes closing. The hall was silent. The fire Patrick had created had burned out. Pete turned his head to the side and spat out a singular orange flower. 

Pete smiled at it and sniffled. Orange was Patrick's favourite colour.


	40. Pompeii

The hall was almost cleared. All that remained was some students picking up rubble half heartedly. Only seven remained unmoving. 

Gabe glanced back and saw that the fire had disappeared. The smoke still hung in the air like a dark rain cloud. The room was coated in a thick layer of black soot. 

He slowly got off of Pete, gently bringing William up with him. Pete slowly moved his hands and feet, flexing them to regain feeling in them. His fingers felt like static. He slowly tore his gaze away from the orange flower he'd been so fixated by. It's petals were coated with a thick black substance. 

Pete slowly rolled over, onto his hands and knees. He crawled to the ash statue of Patrick, standing proudly in the centre of the hall. Students milled out slowly, off to do whatever was to be done at a time like this. Some students cried over people they cared about, whether it was because they were hurt or just not here, Pete didn't care. 

Pete sat in the ruins of the hall, picking flowers off of himself and placing them at Patrick's feet. The hall looked worse for wear to say the least. All of the furniture had burnt to a crisp and beams swung out of the ceiling threateningly. Pete guessed that magic was all that kept the place together at this stage. 

The room was mostly silent. It was eerie. A hand gently perched itself on Petes shoulder. "Hey hun.." Alicia spoke softly. Pete glanced at her before looking back at Patrick and staying silent. No movement was made after that but Alicia's hand stayed where it was. It was annoying Pete, like an anger moved from her fingertips through his body. 

Lindsey slowly walked over and watched Pete. She sighed and gently took Alicia away which Pete was thankful for. Ray made his way over next. "Hey.." He said softly. Pete ignored him too. He felt a little bad, Ray was a good guy. Ray eventually caught on and walked away without needing to be told, keeping himself as silent as possible. 

Gabe strolled over. "Pete-"

"Don't." 

Gabe sighed and plonked himself next to the broken-hearted boy. "Pete please-"

"No."

Gabe sighed and got back up. He knew his attempts were futile. He weakly ruffled Petes hair. Pete flinched away and glared at the floor. He slowly moved himself to wrap his arms around Patrick's leg and cling on. Gabe watched him sadly and walked away, tagging William in. 

William was next. He sat next to Pete. He didn't say a word. He didn't make any move to touch Pete either. 

Pete glanced at him. "I want to be alone.." Petes voice was wrecked from screaming Patrick's name and the cries that had racked his body from all the emotional and physical pain he'd been placed under. 

"I know. We'll be alone together." William said softly. He cautiously took Petes hand in his own. Pete watched their hands mould together and was reminded of Patrick instantly. 

Pete sniffled and closed his eyes, thinking of everything they'd gone through. How they'd met, the heart Patrick had stabbed into his chest. Pete gently traced the scar it had left. He thought of how they'd went to New Jersey, how Pete decided he could walk to where ever Patrick was going and got himself almost burnt alive, only that time Patrick had saved him. 

Pete remembered the first time he'd called Patrick his boyfriend and the little girl Pete had killed in the motel. Pete remembered Noodle, who he'd went away with and severely regretted. 

Pete recalled when he first turned into a bat, when he and Patrick had went to the house with the spider boy in it. He thought of the first time he'd thrown up flowers. He remembered watching Patrick and Mikey together. He could still feel what he felt when he found out Patrick would kill him. 

Pete remembered it all. He remembered how Patrick had always saved him. 

"I saved them. I tried to save you but... I guess love can't save everything." Pete whispered softly and shakily got to his feet. William watched him from the floor, scooting back enough to stand up without alerting Pete. He walked over to his group of friends and they all sadly watched Pete like he was the main character in a dumb romance movie. 

Pete wrapped his arms around Patrick's middle and coughed. His tears bubbled over again and spilled down Patrick's statue. 

"You know, this is the first time you let me hug you." Pete chuckled sadly. He shut his eyes tightly and just stood there. He never wanted to move. 

"I've said it before and I'll say it again. I love you, Patrick." Pete whispered. 

A blinding light shone from the statue. William, Gabe, Alicia, Ashlee and Lindsey watched in utter perplex at what was happening before their very eyes. The white light took over the hall. Pete stood with his eyes closed, oblivious. A sudden warmth enveloped Pete, pulling him closer to the statue. Pete made an odd strangled noise and opened his eyes. 

His eyes widened at the pure raw beauty standing before him. Pete stared into the glowing white eyes of Patrick. The angelic Saint Patrick. 

Pete let out a sob. He grabbed Patrick's face and cried. He looked at William quickly. "This isn't a joke! Tell me it's real!" He screamed. 

William nodded with a small smile gracing his features. "It's real."

Pete clung to Patrick and sobbed in pure happiness. "Wh- I don't- Patrick!" Pete stuttered over his words. He decided to stick with what he knew and repeated Patrick's name in a mantra. 

"Sacrifice.." Ashlee whispered in wonder. 

"Tears of a lover.." Gabe continued. 

"And the blood of a lost soul." William finished. 

Patrick, cured of his vampirism, stared at his love. He slowly raised his hands to cup Petes cheeks. Pete felt his body begin to repair itself faster than ever. 

Patrick looked into the wide eyes browns of his one true love and smiled. He slowly leaned in to kiss him. 

"I love you too..."


	41. Homeless But Not Hatless

Smile.

It was all Pete could do.

As he and Patrick embraced for the first time, Pete smiled. As Patrick confessed his love, Pete smiled. And when Patrick held Petes chin and slowly leaned in, Pete smiled.

"I love you too..."

Pete threw his arms around Patricks neck in pure delight. Patrick chuckled and rubbed Pete's back. "Don't cry, baby bat," He cooed softly. He held the sniffling boy in his tight grasp.

Pete rubbed at his eyes like a stubborn child. "I can't not cry!" Pete laughed.

Patrick notes how Petes smile could light up a room. He used to find the show of teeth annoying and uncalled for but times were different now. Patrick was no longer bringing Pete to the slaughter. Patrick could finally place that odd nagging feeling he'd felt since day one.

Patrick loved Pete. Maybe that's why he hadn't gone for the pretty girl on the dance floor. Something had drawn him to the brown eyed boy. A higher power.

Pete and Patrick stayed in an embrace until Patrick finally took the time to look around. All of his memories came back. He watched the school protectors put Frank Iero in handcuffs. Patrick sighed. "How did you even find this place?"

"I found the door when I was running from you."

"I'm kind of glad you did... maybe." Patrick mumbles the last part.

"Pete...?" A soft girly voice spoke up. It was raspy but held an air of innocence. Pete turned around, his eyes locking with ones of his old lover.

"Ashlee..." He whispered.

Pete felt the tears building behind his eyes as he looked at the blonde girl. He could feel all the guilt and longing hit him like a freight train. "I'm so sorry.. I tried to warn you but I couldn't.."

Ashlee smiled kindly. "It's okay... it wasn't really you, I know that."

Pete felt a wave of relief crash against his heart. He pulled away from Patrick and hugged her tightly. He took advantage of the moment. Ashlee was his past. He had to move on. He hugged tighter. She laughed softy and hugged him back. "Good luck Pete." She whispered in his ear and kissed his dirty hair.

Pete watched her walk away. He wondered if she knew where she was or where she was going. He couldn't place the feeling in the pit of his stomach. Loss? He'd go with that.

Patrick gently took Pete's hand and squeezed. "Are you okay..?"

Pete mulled that question over in his head. Was he? He turned back to Patrick. He took in the pale skin and baby blue eyes. He let the smile take over his face again. He nodded.

"Yeah... yeah I am."

Pete looked to William and the others. He smiled and lead Patrick to them. He flung himself around William and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, so much, for everything."

William hugged back just as tight. "My pleasure. Stay in touch?"

Pete nodded. "Definitely."

Pete hugged the rest of his newfound 'friends' goodbye and took Patrick's hand again.

"Take care of him, Patrick."

Patrick nodded to Gabe and gave Pete's hand a reassuring squeeze.

Patrick and Pete walked out of the academy in blissful silence, their hands clasped together, fingers intertwined. Pete still couldn't fully believe that everything had happened. He glanced back at the old doorway stood proudly in the middle of the field and smiled. They walked the miles back to Patrick's house without the exchange of one word. Content with silence.

Pete huffed softly after they'd jumped through about five fields. "It didn't seem this long on the way there."

Patrick rolled his eyes fondly. "Speed and fear."

Pete scoffed. "I wasn't scared of you. I'd never be scared of you."

Patrick raised his eyebrow. "Whatever you say, Princess Pete."

Pete jumped up and let out a yell when he saw Patrick's old beat up car. "Finally!"

Patrick shook his head at his... boyfriend? Were they boyfriends? He'd ponder that later.

He helped Pete over the last ditch before following. He looked at his old run down house and froze.

The building had fallen. It was black and burnt, walls barely standing. The surrounding garden was all black and covered in ashes. Patrick choked back the sob threatening to rip through his throat. He walked over slowly and looked through the rubble for anything slightly salvageable.

Patrick fell to his knees and decided he couldn't hold it back much longer. He tugged at his hair and let the tears flow down his glowing skin.

Pete slowly made his way over and knelt beside Patrick. He wrapped his arms around the younger boy and pulled him close. He rubbed his back and let him have his moment.

Patrick cried and cried until he wore himself out. He slumped against Pete and rubbed his eyes.

"It was all I had.." Patrick informed him. Pete stayed silent, letting Patrick say what needed to be said.

"My dad... this was all I had of him and I ruined it.."

Pete unwrapped his arms from Patrick. Patrick looked up at him sadly but confused. Pete rummaged around in the deep pocket of Patrick's hoodie.

"Im not sure if this will help but..." Pete pulled out the hat he'd found, like a magician producing a rabbit. He gently passed it to Patrick. Patrick let out a sharp breath and looked at the words sewed into the inside seems.

'David & Patrick Stumph'

Patrick covered his mouth. He would have cried if he had any tears left. He traced the words with one finger and smiled weakly. Patrick gently placed the hat on his head and sniffled. He hugged Pete tightly.

"Thank you."

"Anytime."

Patrick looked at the rubble around himself and sighed. He slowly stood up. He took Pete's hand and pulled him up beside him.

Pete smiled at him, eyes crinkling. Patrick pecked his lips and grinned. He lead him away from the ruins. They both had to let go of their pasts.

They had nowhere to be, nowhere to

go. They had no plan for anything more.

Pete and Patrick walked down the road towards the city that had captivated them. The lights lit up the path they walked, aimless but in love.

**_END_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t like this ending much but, I hope you enjoyed :)


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